


On the Threshold

by Chronojourner



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe (literally), Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting (Mentioned), Nudity, RPF, Sexual Tension, cursing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 98,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronojourner/pseuds/Chronojourner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is having a bad day.  One minute he's in Derek's loft and the next he's on a TV studio set, where he and his friends are a television show and people who look exactly like them are the actors.</p><p>Dylan O'Brien isn't fairing much better.  Transported from the safety of his TV studio to a world where werewolves actually exist and the characters from his show come to life around him, he has to cope not only with werewolves, but also with Druids, werecoyotes, and at least one fairy who definitely doesn't sparkle.</p><p>As more and more people are swapped between our universe and the universe of Teen Wolf, the fabric of time and space begins to unravel. It is up to the cast and characters of the show to figure out what is causing the problem and to fix it before the two universes are irreversibly damaged.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fifteen Frames

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains RPF, so if that bothers you then don't read it. It also contains some cursing, so be warned about that too. To everyone else, I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I edited the relationship tags to better specify what happens in the book. Sorry for any earlier confusion.
> 
> Important Note: This is a piece that emphasizes the story over the ships. So, the ships cited in the tags, while present in the story, are relatively minor compared to the story itself, with the possible exception of the ship between my two original male characters.
> 
> Also, I need to face the fact that I simply suck at tags, so any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

His attention wavered for just a second and he felt lightheaded. He had been in the loft, with Scott, Derek, and Parrish. Parrish had said something and now he couldn’t remember what it was. “Too much Adderall,” Stiles thought. Maybe he was getting sick. Derek’s loft, which was usually cold to his skinny frame, suddenly felt hot and the light was way too bright. “What was that?” he asked Parrish.

“Maybe we can use kanima venom,” Parrish said, tentatively.

“Kanima venom?” Stiles asked, his eyes going wide in disbelief. “Why would you want to give Lydia kanima venom for her birthday?”

Stiles jumped as someone behind him shouted, “Cut... cut… cut!” He turned and nearly passed out from shock. What should have been the other half of Derek’s loft looked like a movie set. There were lights and cameras and people standing there, looking at him like he’d lost his mind. One of those people, a tall, thin, older man, was striding toward him. Red-faced and puffing, the man looked like he was fuming mad.

“O’Brien, what the hell is going on?” the man shouted, coming abreast of Stiles and poking him in the chest with one long, skinny finger. “This scene is not about Lydia’s birthday. The three of you,” he continued, jabbing that finger toward Stiles, Scott, and Derek, “are trying to help Parrish figure out how to stop the bad guy from doing something. And, I might point out that there is no reference to Lydia’s birthday at all in any of the block of scripts we’re currently shooting.” As he said this last, he took what looked like a rolled up copy of a script out of his jacket pocket and whacked Stiles over the head with it.

He then turned around and stalked back toward the cameras, shouting, “Reset and go again!” as he did so.

Stiles felt panic rising in him. This couldn’t be happening. His life had finally returned to semi-normal following the whole thing with the nogitsune… and then the crowd of assassins that had tried to kill all of them soon after that… and now this was happening.

He turned to Scott, only to see his friend along with Derek and Parrish meekly walking toward the loft window. How could they be alright with any of this? They were acting like nothing was wrong. They should have been as freaked out as he was. Why weren’t they?

“Guys!” he shouted, running toward his friends. “How the hell are the three of you alright with this? These guys suddenly appear out of nowhere… the loft is not a loft anymore… and the three of you are acting like nothing is wrong. What the hell?!”

“Dylan?” Scott said, looking at him questioningly. “If this is a joke, you need to stop. We’re behind schedule and we don’t have time for this. Now, knock it off.”

Stiles stood there, gawking at him. “Dylan? Who the hell is Dylan?” he asked.

“Posey,” Derek said, looking from Stiles to Scott, with concern, “I don’t think he’s joking. I think he believes what he’s saying. I think he believes he’s Stiles.”

“Believes…? Believes?!” Stiles shouted, a tone of desperation in his voice that even he recognized. “I AM Stiles!” He was trembling. He felt a familiar tightness in his chest, the first sign of a panic attack on its way.

The man, who had walked away was back, now standing at Scott’s side, a short, dark-haired woman was with him. They all looked very concerned.

Scott turned to the man, “Leonard, what’s going on here? Is this a joke or what?”

“Damn if I know,” the man named Leonard said, his anger now replaced by confusion and worry.

“Ok… ok… I can prove it,” Stiles said, reaching in his back pocket to pull out his wallet. He extracted his driver’s license and handed it to Leonard. “See, that’s me.”

“Wow,” Scott said,” looking at his license as Leonard held it up. “That’s a good one. Did one of the prop guys make that for you?”

Leonard looked at the license carefully. “If this is a fake, it’s a damn good one,” he said. “I don’t know if any of the guys here could have pulled it off, even as good as they are. It certainly feels real, and look at that holograph.” He turned the card back and forth to highlight the changing holographic image on its surface. Then, seeing something on the card, he snorted. “Yea, like that’s Stiles’ real first name,” he said and handed the card back to Stiles, shaking his head. “Take it from me Dylan, whatever Jeff decides Stiles’ first name is, it won’t be that.”

Stiles took the card and shoved it back into his wallet. This was too much. They wouldn’t even believe his driver’s license. He was really shaking, now. “This can’t be happening!” he thought in desperation. “Am I dreaming?!”

Then, his legs gave out and he collapsed in a puddle on the floor. “Nooooo!” he screamed, “this can’t be happening!” He slapped the side of his face several times, trying to wake himself from a non-existent dream. “Wake up!” he shouted with each blow. Tears poured from his eyes as he shook, gasping for breath as the panic attack took full hold. Distantly, he heard Leonard tell the woman, “Go get the medic.”

Scott and Derek were on their knees beside him, while Parrish stood next to Leonard, looking concerned and down-right scared.

“Dude,” Scott said, touching his arm lightly, “you really think that your Stiles and that I’m Scott?”

“Hell yes!” Stiles gasped. “Who the hell else would you be?” The shock on Scott’s face at this was so amazing that it made Stiles’ panic attack even worse.

Leonard now had a smart phone in his hand and was talking to someone. “Jeff,” he said, “you gotta get down here right now. We’re on the loft set and I think O’Brien’s gone round the bend and up a poll.” There was a short pause, then Leonard said, “Because he thinks he’s his character. He thinks he’s Stiles and he’s not joking.”

“Scott,” Stiles said shakily, looking up at his friend (or, at least the person he thought was his friend) in what he knew must be a look of utter desperation, “please tell me this is all some kind of joke you guys are playing on me.” The gasps were getting worse. He was finding it hard to breath. “Because...” gasp “if the hallucinations are back like I had after the whole darach slash human sacrifice thing...” gasp “if they’ve really come back...” gasp “then you guys are going to have to take me back to Eichen House permanently!” gasp… gasp… “Because I can’t take it anymore!” gasp… gasp… gasp…. Stiles passed out. The last thing he remembered seeing was Scott and Derek looking at each other in shocked and complete disbelief.

=== ===

Stiles jerked back into consciousness, a nasty odor in his nose. He opened his eyes to see a guy dressed in a medic’s outfit pulling back a vile of what must have been smelling salts. Behind the medic stood Leonard, along with a new guy. The new guy was youngish, handsome, with light hair and angular features. He also seemed to be in charge. Scott and Derek were with them and were acting like they knew the guy, but everyone else stood back at least 10 feet, giving them plenty of room.

“…seemed like he really believed he was Stiles,” Scott was telling the man. “Jeff, I’m really worried. This is not like Dylan at all. It’s totally bizarre.”

“He’s awake,” the medic said, “but I still need to finish checking him out.”

“Can you do that in his trailer?” asked the man that Scott had called Jeff.

“Sure,” the medic said. Then, turning to Stiles, “You feel like walking?”

“Yea, I think so,” Stiles replied, shakily getting to his feet, using the medic as support.

“Okay,” The medic said, “where’s your trailer?”

“It’s… wait… I have a trailer?”

“I’ll show you,” Derek said, motioning them to follow him.

“I’ll be along in a minute,” the man named Jeff said, “I just have to juggle the shoot schedule.”

Jeff touched Stiles gently on the arm as Stiles walked past. “This will be okay, Dyl… Stiles,” he said, correcting the name. “Just try to relax.”

Stiles looked down at the man’s hand and, after a moment, nodded, not at all sure that anything would ever “be okay” again.

A few minutes later, Stiles sat in a comfortable trailer as the medic checked all of his vital signs, looked in his ears with a scope, checked his reflexes, etc., etc., etc. Stiles, meanwhile, oscillated between being completely freaked out and completely despondent. He could already hear the doors of his padded cell shutting behind him. He was crazy and even he had to admit it.

Derek tried to reassure him that everything was going to be alright, but that just made it worse. For God’s sake, Derek was smiling… or at least trying to. Derek almost never smiled. If Derek were smiling, it meant that the world was about to end.

Finally, Jeff and Scott walked through the trailer door. Jeff, who was staring at a tablet PC in his hand, looked up and asked the medic, “How is he?”

“Blood pressure is a little high,” the medic said. “Not surprising, considering how agitated he’s been… and continues to be.” This last was accompanied by a sharp look at Stiles. “Other than that, he’s fine.”

“Good,” Jeff said. “Thanks for your help. You can go.” The medic nodded, gathered up his equipment, and left.

When he was gone, Jeff turned his attention to Stiles. “Hi, Stiles,” he said, a warm smile on his face, “tell me your story. How did you get here?”

“I don’t even know where here is,” Stiles said, fidgeting and looking down at his hands. He was so exasperated and upset that for a long moment he just sat there. Finally, he began. “I was in Derek’s loft. Scott, Derek, and Parrish were there. We were discussing what to get Lydia for her eighteenth birthday. We didn’t want to end up with duplicate gifts, so we thought we’d coordinate. Parrish said something and I didn’t catch it because I suddenly felt lightheaded… and… and there was this flash of light… you know… really bright. I remember thinking that I must have had too much Adderall. So, I asked him to repeat what he said and he gives me this line about kanima venom. The rest, you know.

“That… that wasn’t Parrish I was talking to, was it?” Stiles asked sheepishly.

“No,” Jeff said, sympathetically, “he’s an actor named Ryan Kelley. He plays Parrish on the show.

“The show?” Stiles asked.

“Teen Wolf,” Scott said. “It’s a television series on MTV. You’ve been on it with us for the last four years.” He must have registered the look on Stiles face, because he added, rather gently, “and no, I’m not Scott McCall either. My name is Tyler Posey. I play Scott on the show. You don’t remember any of this, do you?”

“No,” Stiles said, shaking, “to me it’s all… real.”

“You’re not Derek, either, are you?” Stiles said to the cheerful Derek lookalike.

“No, my name is Tyler Hoechlin.”

This was too much for Stiles. All these people he thought he knew weren’t who he thought they were. Panic suddenly rose in his throat, strangling his senses and squeezing his air supply. “Oh God… Oh, God…,” Stiles started shouting, “not only am I crazy, I’m not even crazy about what I thought I was crazy about! I have another life I don’t remember and I just think I’m a crazy teenager whose best friend is a werewolf.”

“Easy, Dylan,” Hoechlin said, putting one hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to do everything we can to help you get a grip on things. It’ll all work out. Just don’t worry.”

“Dylan?” Stiles asked. “Is that my name?”

“Yes,” Posey said, putting a hand on Stiles’ other shoulder, “Dylan O’Brien. You’re an actor, too.” The two of them smiled at Stiles/Dylan, encouragingly.

Stiles nodded, trying to get a grip on his emotions and prevent another panic attack. He was not succeeding.

“You know,” Jeff said, looking up from his tablet, “I’m not so sure he really is Dylan.”

“What?” Posey and Hoechlin said together, looking up. Even Stiles stopped, mid-way in having his second panic attack of the day. Jeff’s words forcing him to hold his breath, releasing the panic attack’s grip on him.

“Come look at this,” Jeff continued, indicating the tablet. The three crowded around him, staring at the screen. “This was the shoot from today… the scene where things went wrong. Notice what happened just before Ryan says the line about kanima venom.” They watched as the scene progressed. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light.

“What the hell was that?” Posey asked.

“Leonard thought it was a bulb in one of the lights blowing, or a power surge or something,” Jeff said.

“I remember the flash, but it didn’t look like a blown bulb to me then, and still doesn’t,” Posey said and Hoechlin agreed.

“I don’t think it does either,” Jeff said. “Now look at this. See what happens when I slow the scene down and we look at it frame-by-frame.

They all caught it, the first time through.

“It’s like Dylan disappears and then reappears,” Hoechlin said.

“Yes, Jeff continued, “the light flash lasts for 15 frames, or just over half a second. During the first 7, Dylan’s image fades out. Then for one frame, he’s not there at all.”

“And then he reappears during the last 7 frames,” Posey said.

“Or, he disappears and Stiles appears in his place,” Jeff said. He paused the video at the fifteenth frame. “Look at his left wrist, just at the cuff. Do you see it?”

“It looks like a watch,” Hoechlin said. Stiles thought he sounded puzzled.

“But Dylan doesn’t usually wear a watch when he plays Stiles,” Posey said.

“But Stiles wears a watch when he plays Stiles,” Stiles said, holding up his left arm in triumph, to reveal a nice-looking older model Timex. “Lydia gave it to me. It belonged to her mom’s dad.”

“And, of course you’re going to wear it, because Lydia gave it to you,” Jeff said, smiling.

Relief flooded through Stiles. He wasn’t crazy. He really was himself. Maybe he was in a different universe, maybe he didn’t know how to get home, but at least he was not crazy, and that meant the world to him.

Stiles came out of his revere to see that Jeff, Posey, and Hoechlin had all taken a step back and were staring at him in what almost seemed like awe.

“Guys,” Stiles said, concern clouding his former relief, “what’s wrong.”

The three looked at one another. Finally, Posey stepped forward and poked Stiles in the arm, like he was testing whether Stiles was really there.

“Dude, what was that for?” Stiles asked Posey.

“You’re Stiles,” Posey said, a strange smile spreading across his face. “You’re really Stiles.” And he proceeded to give Stiles and enormous bear hug.

The hug caught Stiles by surprise. In about 30 seconds, they’d gone from treating him like a complete nut job to a long lost family member. “That’s nice,” Stiles said, trying to hug back, “awkward, but nice.”

“What Posey is trying to say,” Hoechlin interjected, as Stiles managed to extract himself from the hug, “is that we’ve spent the last four years with these characters and they’re all very personal to us. So, when you show up and you’re real, it’s a major thing for us.”

“So, You’re saying that Posey is fan-girling me?” Stiles asked.

“Pretty much, yea,” Hoechlin replied.

“Totally,” Posey said, grinning broadly.

“But how does a fictional character come to life?” Jeff asked no one in particular.

“Maybe he’s from another universe,” Posey said. “They say that there are a lot of alternate realities out there and that everything that can happen does happen in one or another of them.”

“The many worlds theory,” Jeff said. “That would certainly account for a universe in which Stiles really exists.

“What’s the many worlds theory?” Hoechlin asked.

“It’s the theory that there are an infinite number of alternate realities that exist and that everything that can happen does happen in at least one of them,” Stiles said. “So, somewhere a universe exists where my life and Scott’s life is a television show.

“And somewhere, a universe exists where the characters on our television show are real,” Posey said.

“But, if you’re really Stiles,” Jeff said, a note of concern in his voice, “then where the hell is Dylan?”


	2. An Actor, two Werewolves, and a Parrish Walk into a Vet’s

Man, he was dizzy. It came on suddenly, accompanied by a bright flash of light and a wave of nausea. For a second, he thought he might puke. Maybe he was getting sick. After that initial light flash, the loft set where he was filming had suddenly become cold and dark, like someone had removed all of the lights and dropped the temperature by 30 degrees.

He wished that he could lie down, if only for a moment, but they were so far behind schedule that he needed to do everything he could to save the scene and get on with filming, so he spoke his line. It lacked any kind of emotion or nuance, but it was the best he could do at the moment. “Kanima venom might work. I like that idea,” Dylan said. He waited for the responding line.

After a longer than expected pause, Ryan said, “Stiles, why would I want to give Lydia kanima venom for her birthday?”

“Oh, geez,” Dylan moaned. “What a freaking day. Ryan, what the fuck?! We’re behind schedule, we need to blow through this scene and the next two today, and here you are joking around!

“Leonard, a little help here,” Dylan said, turning to appeal to the director, not understanding why Leonard hadn’t already cut the scene. He froze when he turned to find nothing but the other half of Derek’s loft… no lights… no cameras… no crew… no director… just loft. “What the hell?!” Dylan said in shock. “Where the hell did everyone go? Where the hell is Leonard?”

“Who’s Leonard?” Ryan asked, looking like Dylan had lost his mind. Turning to Posey and Hoechlin, Ryan asked, “Does he do this often? Is it a side effect of the whole nogitsune possession thing?”

“No and no,” Hoechlin replied, moving closer and looking carefully at Dylan. “Scott,” Hoechlin said to Posey, “did you see what I thought I saw?"

“If you mean, did I see Stiles disappear and reappear in a flash of light, then yes,” Posey said, coming forward and taking his own careful look at Dylan. He sniffed at him, got a puzzled look on his face, then came closer and sniffed again. Then he came right up to Dylan, put his nose against Dylan’s arm and took a big sniff.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dylan said, jumping back.

“He doesn’t even smell like Stiles,” Posey said, stepping away.

“Well of course I don’t smell like Stiles,” Dylan said, angrily. “There’s only so far I’m willing to take method acting. I’m certainly not going to try to smell like a stinky, hyperactive teenager.”

“Dude, that stinky, hyperactive teenager is my best friend,” Posey said, an angry expression on his face. “Don’t dis him.”

“Look at him with your wolf eyes,” Hoechlin said. When Dylan turned to see what Hoechlin meant, the shock sent fear racing through him. He took an involuntary step back. Hoechlin’s eyes were glowing blue. He turned back to Posey and saw the red eyes of an alpha staring back at him.

“How the hell are you two doing that?” he asked, confused and scared. This wasn’t right. This required CGI. It wasn’t something they could do as a practical effect.

“You’re not Stiles, so who the hell are you?” Hoechlin asked.

“Hoechlin, we’ve been together on this show for four years, and you’re telling me you don’t know me?” Dylan demanded in exasperation.

“Show,” Posey said, “what show?”

“You know, Posey… Teen Wolf… the little werewolf show on MTV… where you’re the star and I’m the sidekick… and Hoechlin here is the sourwolf… and Ryan over there is the ‘we don’t know what yet…’.”

“Do you understand what he’s talking about, Derek?” Posey asked, turning to Hoechlin.

“Not a clue,” Hoechlin replied, “but did you see the energy around him?”

“Yea, that I saw. What is it?”

“Not sure, but it shouldn’t be there,” Hoechlin replied.

“Ryan walked up to Dylan and asked, “Stiles, why are you referring to Scott as ‘Posey,’ and to Derek as ‘Hoechlin,’ and to me as ‘Ryan?’ And who are you, if you’re not Stiles?”

Dylan eyed him like he was crazy. “Are you guys insisting that you don’t know me?”

“If you’re not Stiles, then we don’t know you,” Hoechlin replied.

“I’m Dylan O’Brien,” Dylan said, feeling stupid that he was actually playing along with their little joke. And you’re Tyler Hoechlin, you’re Tyler Posey, and you’re Ryan Kelley.”

“No,” Hoechlin said, his eyes fading back to normal, “you may be Dylan O’Brien, but I’m Derek Hale, he’s Scott McCall, and he’s Jordan Parrish.

“Right,” Dylan said, sarcastically, “when pigs fly.”

Hoechlin looked at Posey and shrugged. “I guess, we’re just going to have to show him,” he said.

“You mean show him what we are?” Posey asked, a little surprised.

“Yea,” Hoechlin said, “he seems to know about werewolves, so why not? You want me to do it?”

“Nah, let me,” Posey replied, and Hoechlin gave him a hand gesture indicating, “be my guest.”

Not understanding, Dylan stood looking from one to the other, and then Posey transformed and Dylan realized that this truly was Scott McCall standing in front of him. Scott’s face elongated, large sideburns grew along his jaw, fangs protruded from his mouth, his forehead bulged, claws extended from his fingertips, and above all, his eyes glowed bright red… the red of an alpha. Then, he roared and all Dylan could do was to clap his hands over his ears and sink to the floor. Dylan had never felt anything like it in all his life. The roar washed over him like a hurricane, blasting him both physically and psychically with its power. The vibration alone shook his insides and made them feel like they were about to explode. It deafened him and even made his teeth rattle until they hurt. It was impossible to withstand. He could only imagine how it must sound to other supernaturals, with their heightened senses. Dylan recalled a line from season 3b, when Silverfinger said to Chris Argent, “You do not fight a tsunami, you endure it.” Everything he had, every ounce of strength and will, now went to enduring the tsunami that was Scott McCall’s roar. It seemed to go on forever and while it lasted, the rest of the world did not exist, there was only the roar of the alpha.

When it finally ended and Dylan looked up, shocked and stunned, Parrish was cowering, back against a wall, and even Derek was bent over with his hands covering his ears. But Scott was moving. With incredible speed, he closed the distance between himself and Dylan, grabbed Dylan by his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Then, with careful precision, he shoved him against one of the support columns of the loft, causing Dylan’s head to snap back and bang against the column. Dylan had the feeling that Scott knew exactly what he was doing. The bang had hurt, but hadn’t been enough to knock him out or cause any real damage. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of who was in charge here.

“What have you done to Stiles?” Scott demanded in the loud, vibrating voice of the alpha. “Where is he?”

“I… I don’t know what happened to him?” Dylan said, trying to get control of his fear. “I’ve never met him… I’ve never even seen him… honest. I was on the set of my show, doing a scene, and then I was here. I don’t know anything else.”

Scott growled and Dylan felt an instinctive urge to recoil, but he couldn’t, as he was already shoved against the column.

Fortunately, Derek was suddenly beside Scott, putting one hand on his arm. “Scott, don’t,” he said. “We don’t need to be so rough with him. I think he’s as much a victim in all of this as Stiles. Listen to his heart, it’s beating a mile a minute because he’s afraid, but it didn’t change when he answered. He really doesn’t know.”

Scott thought for a moment, then asked Dylan, “Tell me specifically, did you have anything to do with Stiles’ disappearing?”

“No,” Dylan said.

Scott stood very still for a long moment, Dylan still clutched in his hand and pressed uncomfortably against the column. He listened to the sound of Dylan’s heartbeat and the secrets it could tell him. As Dylan waited, he noticed that Scott was giving off a musky scent. It was something that seemed very wild and animalistic. Perhaps werewolves produced this scent to intimidate other werewolves – and humans. If so, it was working. Dylan was definitely intimidated. Of course, that might have just been because of the fangs, claws, and inhuman strength. Finally, Scott looked at him and nodded, saying, “I believe you.” He let Dylan go, and it was everything Dylan could do to stay on his feet. He thought he’d never been so scared in all his life.

It took a moment for Dylan to get his breath, then he said to the two werewolves, “I don’t know where Stiles is, but I have a suspicion… a guess where he might be.”

“Where’s that?” Derek asked.

“Well,” Dylan began, rubbing the back of his head, where Scott had banged it against the column, “I think I’m in a completely different universe from my own. You guys don’t exist where I’m from. So, if I’ve somehow been switched to your universe, then maybe Stiles has been switched to mine? Maybe at the same time I appeared here, he appeared on the sound stage where I was filming.”

“Sound stage… filming… what are you talking about?” Derek asked.

“I’m an actor on a television show called Teen Wolf, which is about Scott, Stiles, and the rest of you,” Dylan said. They just stared at him.

“In your world, we’re a television show?” Scott asked. “How weird.”

“You play Stiles… on this television show… in this other universe?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Dylan replied, “I play Stiles.”

“Okay,” is anyone else as freaked out by that as I am?” Parrish asked.

“Me,” Scott said, holding up a hand.

“What freaks me out and makes me wonder all at the same time,” Dylan continued, “is how we got switched, if that’s what happened. And I also want to know how we can each get back to where we belong. I know I don’t want to be in this universe and I bet that Stiles doesn’t want to be in my universe, either… if that’s where he is.”

“This is certainly beyond all of our experience levels,” Derek said, eyeing Dylan. “I think we need to talk with someone else, maybe Deaton. What do you think Scott?

“We could see what he says,” Scott replied. “I’ll call him.”

“While he’s doing that, Dylan, can you call Lydia and ask her to join us at the animal clinic?” Derek asked.

“I could, if I had Stiles’ cell phone,” Dylan replied. “And, why exactly do you want me to call her? She doesn’t know me. Do you want to see if she senses that I’m not Stiles?”

“No,” Derek said, “I want you to explain who you are and see if she can sense Stiles somewhere… whether he’s alive or dead. I’m hoping the shock of hearing it from you directly, will trigger her banshee senses and we can get some quick results from her.”

“Ok,” Dylan said, “then let’s find his cell phone, if it’s still in this universe.”

“Uh… I think it may be here,” Parrish said, walking over to the table by Derek’s window and grabbing a jacket that was lying on it. “This is Stiles’ jacket. He put it on the table when he came in.

Parrish searched the pockets, eventually pulling a cheap, battered cell phone from one of them which he handed to Dylan, along with the jacket itself.

Dylan scanned the contacts until he found Lydia Martin’s name and pressed the call button. Lydia answered on the third ring.

“Hey Stiles,” she said in a voice that was exactly like Holland Roden’s.

“Hey Lydia,” Dylan said. “Look, there’s something I need to tell you and it’s going to sound crazy, but just go with it, okay?”

“Hum,” Lydia replied, “something crazy going on in Beacon Hills. Like that never happens. What is it?”

“Well,” Dylan said, taking a deep breath, “I’m not really Stiles. My name is Dylan O’Brien and I look and sound like Stiles, but I’m from a different universe. Derek, Scott, and I think that Stiles was switched to my universe at the same time I was brought here. Derek wants you to see if you can sense Stiles and whether he is in this universe or not, and whether he’s still alive.”

There was a long pause.

“You’re kidding, right?” Lydia finally asked.

“Not really,” Dylan said. “We’re at Derek’s loft and….”

“Ok, I’m coming over,” she interrupted.

“No, wait,” Dylan said. “Meet us at the animal clinic. We’re going there to talk to Deaton.”

“Ok,” she said, matter-of-factly, “the clinic in 20 minutes.” She hung up.

“That was weird,” Dylan said.

“Did she believe you?” Derek asked.

“I don’t know,” Dylan replied. “She just got all matter-of-fact and clinical on me and said she’d meet us at the animal clinic in 20 minutes.”

“Good, Derek said, “she believed you. Let’s go.”

 

=== ===

 

The clinic looked very much like the one from the show, though perhaps a little bigger. It was hard for Dylan to compare with the set. Sets had movable walls and could give you a false sense of size. There were certainly more rooms in the real clinic than on the set. As they walked in, Dylan noticed a restroom off the waiting area and there was an office for Deaton that didn’t exist back in his universe.

Deaton ushered them into the examining area, where most of the action usually occurred on the show. Once inside, he stood there, looking at Dylan with undisguised curiosity. “You’re Dylan?” Deaton asked, extending his hand.

“Yes,” Dylan said, marveling at how exactly he looked and sounded like Seth Gilliam. He took Deaton’s hand and shook it. “Pleased to meet you.”

Deaton started to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of the outer door opening followed by Lydia and Kira entering the room. On seeing Dylan, they both stopped in their tracks.

“Oh my God,” Kira said, wide-eyed, “he looks just like Stiles.”

“Yes he does,” Lydia said, and then she walked slowly toward him, examining him carefully through narrowed eyes.

Dylan felt suddenly self-conscious.

“Say something,” Lydia said.

“What do you want me to say, Lydia?” Dylan asked.

“Wow,” Kira said, “he sounds exactly like Stiles too.”

They heard the door open and close again. “I called Stiles’ father and Malia before we left,” Lydia said by way of explanation.

Sheriff Stilinski and Malia rushed in. They, like Lydia and Kira, came to a halt as soon as they spotted Dylan. “Please tell me you’re Stiles,” the sheriff pleaded, anxiously.

“Sorry,” Dylan said sadly, knowing how much the truth was going to hurt the sheriff. “I’m Dylan.”

“Oh, God,” the sheriff said, passing a hand over his eyes and down his face. “Where’s my son?”

“We don’t know for certain,” Dylan said, “but we think he may have been switched to my universe at the same time that I was switched to this one.”

“You sound like Stiles,” Malia said, walking toward him and sniffing the air, “but you don’t smell like him.”

“Yea,” Dylan said, nervously, “Scott’s already given me a good sniffing.”

Scott nodded, “Definitely not Stiles.”

“Ok,” Stilinski said, “how do we find my son and get him back?”

“That’s a really good question,” Dylan said, “because I’d like to go home too.”

“Oh heavens,” the sheriff said, shaking his head and running one hand across the back of his neck, “here I am worrying about Stiles, and not even thinking about you. You’ve been picked up and put down in another universe just as much as Stiles. You must be as scared and upset by all of this as he is.”

“Trust me, I am,” Dylan said, giving him a weary smiling, “and not just about getting switched to another universe. It’s been pretty scary, having all the characters from my television show come to life around me.” He gave Scott a side glance, remembering the fangs and the roar.

“Television show?” Lydia asked.

“Maybe you should tell us about yourself,” Deaton said. “It might not only clear up our questions about who you are, but help us piece together what happened. If we know something about you and about what you were doing when all this happened it might give us an idea of how to fix it,”

Parrish laughed. “Get ready for a shock,” he said.

For the next five minutes, the people around him stood in silence, while he told them who he was; what he did for a living; how they were, in his universe, characters in a television series; how he was filming when he suddenly found himself not on the loft set at his studio, but in Derek’s real loft; etc.; etc.

Derek and Scott told how they saw Stiles disappear and Dylan appear in his place, how they knew he was telling the truth from the lack of change in his heart rate, and how they had decided to come here to talk with Deaton.

“I need a drink,” the sheriff said, when they were done. “Too bad I don’t drink anymore.”

Malia took his hand and squeezed it. Dylan noticed that silent tears trickled down her face. She turned away when she noticed Dylan looking.

“Lydia, have you been able to sense Stiles, since talking to Dylan?” Derek asked.

“No,” Lydia said, sounding rather depressed. “I can’t tell if he’s alive or dead. And I certainly don’t get any sense of where he is.

“Sorry,” she added.

“Don’t be,” Derek said, walking up to her and giving her a hug. “That tells us something right there.”

“What does it tell us?” Malia asked.

“That he’s not in this universe,” Derek said, and reached over to hug Malia with his other arm.

There was a long silence, as everyone took in what Derek said.

Finally, Deaton said in a calm and professional way, “Dylan, if you don’t mind, I’d like to examine you. I want to see if changing universes left any traces or disturbances.”

“Sure,” Dylan said, sitting in a chair that Deaton had pulled from the wall into the center of the room.

As Deaton bent to examine him, Dylan could clearly smell the vet’s cologne. It reminded him of sea spray on a summer day. It was very different from the one Seth wore, so not everything was exactly the same. Deaton performed the exam quickly, but thoroughly. Dylan tried not to fidget, but it was difficult. He was clearly the center of attention. The sheriff looked at him, seemingly still in disbelief that Dylan wasn’t really his son; Malia looked at him like she wanted to shred him and toss him into the nearest waste basket. Maybe she was blaming him for Stiles disappearance, maybe it was something else. Lydia looked at him with cool detachment. What was going on with her? She seemed different from the way Holland played her on the show.

Finally, Deaton stopped poking and prodding him and stood up. “Well, he looks pretty normal to me,” Deaton said. “I don’t see any differences from Stiles.”

“He has some kind of energy field around him,” Derek said. He flashed blue eyes at Dylan and added to Deaton, “Yep, still there.”

“Hum,” Deaton said, stepping back and taking a long look at Dylan, “I’ve never been good at seeing auras and things like that.”

“This isn’t like an aura, it looks like residual radiation or something,” Derek said.

“Hum,” Deaton repeated, continuing to look at Dylan. He tilted his head to one side, squinted at Dylan, then moved to another angle and tilted his head to the other side.

“Any ideas?” Scott asked.

“Maybe,” Deaton said. What color is this energy you see.

“Violet,” Derek said.

“Okay,” Deaton said, stroking his chin. “I think I’m ready to say a few things about what I think is going on here. Someone being moved from one universe to another is something that never happens by accident. It’s not a mistake of nature. The only way it can occur is by the use of extremely powerful magic. That kind of magic leaves traces.”

“So, you’re saying that someone deliberately brought me here and sent Stiles to my universe… or wherever he ended up, right?” Dylan asked.

“That’s accurate,” Deaton said. “The two big questions are who did it and how. If we know the answers to those, then it’s likely that we can reverse what they did and get both of you back to your own universes.”

“I’m all for that,” Dylan said.

“The fact that the energy around you is ‘violet’ in color may offer us a clue as to who is responsible,” Deaton continued.

“How?” Dylan asked.

“Colors are often specific to certain types of magic,” Deaton replied. “For example, red is often associated with love magic.”

“Okay,” Dylan said, “then what is violet associated with?”

“Violet,” Deaton replied, “tends to be connected with Fay magic.”

“Uh… what’s Fay magic?” Scott asked.

“Fairy magic,” Lydia replied.

“You mean, like Tinkerbelle?” Scott asked.

“Not really,” Deaton said, “A lot of people think of the Fay the way they’re shown in Hollywood films and Victorian era drawings – tiny little creatures with dragonfly wings and sparkles. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The real Fay are non-corporeal beings that have a huge amount of magical power. Normally they have very limited dealings with the human world. I don’t understand why any of them would want to do this to Stiles and Dylan.”

“Any way to find out?” the sheriff asked.

“Perhaps,” Deaton said, “but I need to do some research. Comeback tomorrow at this time and I’ll tell you what I’ve learned.”

“Tomorrow?” the sheriff asked, “we have to wait a whole day to find out something?”

“Sorry, but this is a highly unusual situation. Researching it will take time,” Deaton said. “If I find anything important before then, I’ll call.”

The group nodded and started to file out of the room.

“Guys,” Dylan said, “I don’t have any place to go.”

“Get a hotel room,” Malia replied.

“I don’t have any money,” Dylan said. “My wallet is in my own clothes, back at the studio. I’m dressed as Stiles and I never have my wallet when I’m in costume.”

“You can stay with us,” the sheriff said, motioning Dylan to join Malia and him.

“He can’t have Stiles’ bed,” Malia said quickly, turning to give Dylan a hard look.

“He can sleep in the guest room,” the sheriff said. “Come on and let’s go.”

The room quickly emptied. As he walked out, Dylan turned to Deaton and said, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Deaton said, smiling.


	3. Jobs and Tears

“Hang on, let me get this straight, you want to hire me to play myself on your show?” Stiles asked, a bit incredulously. They were still in Dylan’s trailer. Hoechlin had been called away to shoot a scene; while Stiles, Posey, and Jeff were discussing next steps in the effort to get Dylan and Stiles swapped back to their own universes.

“Just until we can figure out how to get you back to your universe and Dylan back to ours,” Jeff said smiling.

“But, I’ve never acted before,” Stiles said.

“You’re playing yourself,” Jeff said. “What could be easier. Besides, Dylan had done very little acting when we cast him and he’s been great.

“Look,” Jeff continued, sounding very earnest, “We’ve got a show to shoot and we can’t wait for Dylan to be returned to us from whatever universe he’s ended up in. You’re the logical choice.”

“Really? You actually think I’ll be able to act?” Stiles asked, wondering if Jeff was only saying that because he needed someone to fill the role. On the other hand, he didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t take the job… become a street person, probably. He was stuck in a different universe with no family, no job, and very little money, so what else was he going to do?

“Absolutely,” Jeff said, “and Posey can coach you and teach you what to expect.”

“Yea,” Posey chimed in, encouragingly, “I’ll teach you everything I know. Besides, most of your scenes in this block of episodes are with me, so we’ll be together most of the time anyway.”

“Cool,” Stiles said. If he took the offer, then he wouldn’t be alone, at least on the scripts they were currently shooting.

“What do you mean exactly, by a ‘block’ of scripts?” he asked. He always figured that there was just one script at a time. Was that wrong?

“Teen Wolf does what’s called block shooting,” Jeff explained. “That basically means that instead of shooting one script at a time, we shoot multiple scripts simultaneously; in our case, three scripts at a time. So, you may shoot two scenes from episode four, followed by a scene from episode five, and then a couple of scenes from episode six. We do it that way because its more efficient to shoot. It saves us money.”

Stiles nodded his understanding. He wanted to take the offer. After all, he needed to earn money some way, otherwise he really would be a street person.

“How much do I get paid for doing this?” he asked.

Jeff wrote down a number on a sheet of paper, folded it, and handed it to Stiles.

“Wow,” Stiles said, before he could control himself. He was a high school student. He wasn’t used to being offered that kind of money for working. “That’s per year?” he croaked.

“Per episode,” Jeff said. “It’s the same as what Dylan makes.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. His voice was becoming more strained by the second, thinking about that much money. “How many episodes?”

“Twenty,” Jeff replied, casually. “But, of course, we’ll hopefully have you and Dylan back in your own universes long before that.”

“Hopefully,” Stiles squeaked, his mind reeling as he did the math. After taking a moment, to get his voice and emotions under control, he added “Ok, I’ll do it.”

“Great,” Jeff said, smiling. “Now, we need to figure out how to play this to the cast and crew, as well as to the general public. I’m sure word has leaked out that you were acting strangely earlier and saying that you’re Stiles.”

“But, I am Stiles,” Stiles said.

“I know,” Jeff continued, “but we can’t just say that to everyone.”

“Why not?” Stiles asked.

“Because, if you start talking about being Stiles, they’re going to show up with nets and the funny white jackets, and put you in a mental institution. We know you’re Stiles, but the rest of the world thinks traveling to other universes is impossible… and that’s assuming that they believe in other universes to begin with. If you start talking like that, then people will get the idea that Dylan is crazy and that could damage his career when he gets back, understand?”

“Yea,” Stiles said, dejected, “I get it.”

“Ok,” Jeff said, “then what we’ll do is to tell the cast and crew what is really going on, as they have either seen what happened directly or have talked with people here who did. I can use the non-disclosure agreements to make sure they don’t say anything outside these walls. As for dealing with everyone else… you should pretend to be Dylan. Use his driver’s license, pay with his credit cards, stay at his place. To the rest of the world, you’re Dylan O’Brien, ok?”

“Ok,” Stiles said, not sure that he really liked the idea, but he understood the need for it. The last thing he wanted was for people to show up and cart him off to the L.A. equivalent of Eichen House.

“Good,” Jeff said, “I’ll arrange the paperwork and be back in under an hour. Why don’t you hang out here with Posey.” It was a statement, not a question. “Tyler,” Jeff said to Posey, “can you start briefing him on the things he needs to know?”

“Sure,” Posey said, smiling.

 

=== ===

 

That had been two hours ago. Now, after getting a crash course in acting and set etiquette by Posey; Jeff showing up with reams of paperwork to be signed, including a non-disclosure agreement; and being given copies of the scripts they were currently filming; he was sitting in the administrative offices for the show, at a group of tables arranged in a big square. Jeff was sitting at the head table, Stiles to his immediate left, Posey to his right, and as many of the rest of the cast as they could get to come into the office on short notice, sitting in the other seats. Stiles was amazed at how much these people looked like his friends. The girl who played Lydia looked just like her and he’d almost given a kiss to the girl who played Malia, before realizing that she wasn’t really his girlfriend.

“I know you’ve all heard rumors that Dylan is not in his right mind and believes he’s Stiles,” Jeff said, to start the meeting. “The truth is a bit more… um… complicated than that.”

“You mean that Dylan hasn’t ‘gone round the bend and up a pole,’ to quote Leonard,” the guy who looked like Liam said, snickering. His first name was Dylan, but what was his last name? Stiles couldn’t remember. Something about berries… Sprayberry, that was it.

“The truth is that Dylan disappeared from the set while filming a scene and Stiles appeared immediately after, in his place. So, we don’t even know where the real Dylan is,” Jeff said.

“Have you tried looking to your left?” the woman who played Melissa, who was also named Melissa, said, pointing at Stiles. Everyone laughed, except Jeff and Stiles, and even they smiled.

Just as Jeff started to respond, a man who looked exactly like Stiles’ dad rushed into the room. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. The traffic from LAX was brutal.”

“No worries,” Jeff said. “We were just getting started.”

“My God,” Stiles thought, “he sounds exactly like my dad too.” Anguish hit Stiles like a ton of bricks. He missed his dad. Would he ever see him again? He didn’t know.

Seeing Stiles gawking at him, the man raised his hand in greeting and said, “Hi Dyl, how’s it going,” as he took an empty seat. Stiles just sat there staring at him. The pain was almost unbearable. Somewhere, in another universe, his dad was waiting for him, missing him, hoping he would come back. Stiles had to will himself not to break down and cry right then and there. It took a huge effort.

Jeff must have seen the look on Stiles’ face and (perhaps) felt a need to make sure Stiles knew that this was not his dad, because he said, “Linden Ashby, allow me to introduce you to the real Stiles Stilinski.”

“What?” Linden said, a perplexed look on his face. There were murmurs around the table.

“It’s complicated, Jeff said, “but I think it will become a little clearer when I play you guys the scene we shot with Dylan and Stiles a little earlier.” Jeff then ran the video showing Dylan disappearing and Stiles appearing in his place. There were gasps when people saw what had happened and more gasps when Jeff pointed out the watch that was on Stiles’ arm, but not Dylan’s. Jeff repeated the video several times, explaining exactly what was happening frame by frame.

“That’s impressive,” the guy who played Chris Argent said, when Jeff had finished, “provided it hasn’t been doctored and you guys aren’t playing some massive prank on us.”

“No prank,” Hoechlin said. “Posey and I were there. We saw it. It happened just like the video shows.” The guy, who Dylan suddenly remembered was called J.R. something or other, nodded, evidently still unsure, but at least willing to go with it for the moment.

“All of you signed non-disclosure agreements,” Jeff reminded everyone. “This falls under that. Don’t disclose this to anyone outside the cast and crew. To everyone else, he’s Dylan. Understood?”

Everyone nodded.

“Ok,” Jeff continued, “Stiles has graciously consented to play himself on the show, until we can figure out how to get Dylan back to this universe and Stiles back to his own.” “So, I want all of you to do everything you can to make sure Stiles is at home on the set and help him out when he needs it.”

Everyone nodded again.

The meeting broke up soon after, with Jeff leaving to have a similar conversation with the crew.

Melissa and Linden made a beeline for Stiles after the meeting. “Is this for real?” Linden asked, looking Stiles up and down. “You look and sound exactly like Dylan.”

“Yea, it’s for real,” Stiles said, “and trust me, you two look and sound exactly like my dad and Mrs. McCall, too.”

“Really?” Melissa said. “I hate to be so dubious, ya know, but I’m having a lot of trouble accepting the idea that people can hop between universes. Do you have any proof that you’re really Stiles?”

Stiles pulled out his wallet and started yanking cards and stuff out of it and slapping them on the table. “That’s my driver’s license,” he said… slap. “That’s my social security card…” slap. “That’s the gas station credit card my dad insists I keep with me in case I need gas and it’s an emergency…” slap. “That’s my library card…” slap. “That’s my insurance card…” slap. “That’s the registration card for my jeep…” slap. And that’s a picture of me and my mom and dad when I was eight. Satisfied?” Stiles asked, his frustration rising. “Because, if you’re not, then I fucking give up, because I fucking don’t know how I can prove who I am if you’re not willing to believe any of this stuff. I mean, hey, I’m having trouble believing it myself, you know, cause half the people around here look and sound like the people I spend every day of my life with… my friends… my family… but they aren’t… and it’s driving me freaking nuts…!”

Melissa and Linden looked up from examining the cards that Stiles had placed on the table, completely taken aback. “Ok,” Melissa said, “we didn’t mean to pull any triggers for you. We just wanted to make sure everything is on the up-and-up.”

Stiles felt very contrite. He had no right to be this way with people. As frustrated as he was, it didn’t help things to take it out on them. They were just trying to do their best to understand a very weird and almost impossible situation.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve just had a really bad day and seeing Linden, looking exactly like my dad, just sent me over the edge.”

“Oh,” Melissa said, a pained expression on her face.

Linden suddenly hugged Stiles, taking him completely off guard. Before he realized what was going on, he was being embraced by a man who was identical to his dad, while his real dad remained impossibly far away, somewhere in another universe that Stiles might never see again. It was way too much for his overworked emotions to handle. Fear and sorrow suddenly welled up in Stiles before he could clamp them down – sorrow that he was so extremely far from home and fear that he might never see his dad and friends again. As Linden tightened the hug, a sob escaped Stiles mouth despite his best efforts; and with that one escape, the flood gates opened. Linden continued to hold him as Stiles finally gave in and his body was wracked by sobs and tears streamed freely down his face. Melisa and Posey came up and put arms around him. Stiles was glad for them… for any friend he had in this strange universe where he was stuck.


	4. Dinner and Conversation

They arrived at the Stilinski home in short order. Dylan, driving the jeep, had followed the sheriff. Pulling into the drive, he stretched his head out of the driver’s side window and asked the sheriff where Stiles usually parked. He was directed to a patch of dirt beside the sheriff’s SUV and pulled into it.

Malia, who pointedly ignored Dylan as they entered the house, went directly to Stiles' room, where she closed the door.

“She’s having a rough time of it,” the sheriff said to Dylan. “I have to admit that I’m not doing much better, myself.”

“Thank you for letting me stay with you guys until we get this sorted out, Dylan said. “It must be very difficult having someone here who looks and sounds like Stiles, when he is out there somewhere in another universe. I really appreciate your hospitality.”

“You’re welcome,” the sheriff said as he showed Dylan to the guest bedroom. Dylan walked in and looked around. It was nothing fancy, but still quite nice; basic, but homey. He’d be happy to have it as a guest bedroom in his own house. He sat down on the bed. The mattress was a little softer than he normally liked, but, hey, beggars can’t be choosers, so it would do very well.

“I guess I need to rustle up some grub,” the sheriff said, his head down as he started to leave the room.

“Hey,” Dylan said, looking up from the bed, “let me cook.”

“You can cook?” the sheriff asked in surprise.

“Yea, I cook all the time,” Dylan said, “can’t Stiles?”

“Not anything you’d want to eat,” the sheriff said with a wry smile.

“Well, I’m a decent cook,” Dylan said, getting up from the bed, a broad smile on his face. For the first time since he had landed in this universe, he felt like there was something he could do, some positive effect he could have on the situation. He had the sheriff show him to the kitchen. A quick look and he discovered enough ingredients to make a passable beef stroganoff, along with a green bean casserole, and some squash for the second side item. For dessert, he found several nice apples that he stuffed with brown sugar and cinnamon and wrapped in aluminum foil to bake.

An hour later and the three of them were sitting down to dinner.

For the first time since he met her, Malia’s icy disposition showed signs of melting. “I like the beef stroganoff,” she said, even managing a small smile.

“Thanks,” Dylan replied.

“Where did you learn to cook?” the sheriff asked.

“Growing up,” Dylan said, smiling. “It was self-defense. When I was a teenager, both of my parents worked, so my sister and I had to fend for ourselves a lot. Don’t get me wrong, my parents didn’t neglect us or anything, it’s just that they were busy, so anything we could do to help out was appreciated by everyone.”

“You have a sister?” the sheriff asked.

“Yea,” Dylan replied. “Her name is Julia. She just graduated from Boston College last spring. I’m really proud of her.” He felt a lump in his throat as he added this last. He really was proud of her and he wondered if he would ever see her again. “Have faith, O’Brien,” he said to himself.

“You said, ‘when [you were] a teenager,’” the sheriff said. “Does that mean you’re not a teenager now?

“I’m 23,” Dylan said.

“Wow, you’re almost as old as Derek,” Malia said, wide-eyed.

“Yea, definitely older than Stiles,” the sheriff added.

“Yea,” Dylan said, “it’s typical for actors in Hollywood to play younger than they are. I was 19 when the show started.”

“Well this is great food,” the sheriff said. Malia smiled and nodded in agreement.

“I used to cook for Posey and Hoechlin when we roomed together in Atlanta, the first two seasons of the show,” Dylan said, remembering those days fondly.

“Atlanta?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes,” Dylan said with a sigh. “For tax reasons, the show was filmed in Atlanta the first two seasons. Posey plays Scott and Heochlin plays Derek. We roomed together. We split the cooking duties, but I ended up cooking a lot, because I didn’t mind doing it.”

“What did you do on this show?” the sheriff asked.

“What do you mean?” Dylan replied, not sure what he was getting at.

“What kind of stories did you have on the show?” the sheriff elaborated. “I’m just finding it hard to believe that my son’s life and the lives of his friends could make a television show.”

Dylan smiled, wondering to himself how nogitsunes, kanimas, and hoards of assassins didn’t make for good television. He said, “Of course, I don’t know if the events in Stiles’ and Scott’s lives match what was on our show, but I can tell you about the stories we dealt with. The first season was mostly about Scott getting used to his wolf powers and about finding the alpha who bit him. That ended with Derek killing Peter. Of course, Peter didn’t stay dead. He comes back in season two.”

“Yea, that was an unfortunate turn of events,” the sheriff said. “I really can’t stand that guy.” Seeing Malia looking at him, he added, “Sorry Malia, I know he’s your father, but the guy is really a bad person.”

“I don’t disagree,” Malia said, helping herself to seconds of the stroganoff. She added, addressing Dylan, “This is really good. Can you give me the recipe?”

“Sure,” Dylan said, “I’m glad you like it.

“Anyway,” he continued, addressing the sheriff, “the second season was all about Jackson being the kanima and dealing with Matt and with Gerard Argent, who were controlling him at different times.” Dylan continued listing out the major story lines for each season. Everything seemed to line up pretty well with what had happened in this universe, at least to the extent that the sheriff and Malia knew it.

“Have you done any other shows or movies?” Malia asked. Dylan was delighted that she was participating in the conversation. That was much better than giving him the cold shoulder.

“Several movies and a couple of TV shows,” he replied. “I was on an episode of _New Girl_ , I was in a romantic comedy movie called _The First Time_. I met my girlfriend on the set. She was my costar. Most recently, I was the lead in the movie _The Maze Runner_ , which was based on the books. Do you guys have those here.”

“Oh,” Malia said, smiling, “yes we do. Stiles loves those books. “He talks about them a lot.”

“That’s great,” Dylan said, returning Malia’s smile. “Who’s the lead in the movie in this universe?”

Malia shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t think they’ve made them into movies in our universe,” the sheriff said.

“Interesting,” Dylan responded, “so not everything is exact. There are differences.”

“Seems so,” the sheriff replied.

 

=== ===

 

“The evening had been a roaring success,” Dylan thought, as he walked slowly back to the Stilinskis’ guest bedroom. He had taken a shower and now was dressed in a pair of Stiles’ pajamas and a robe borrowed from the sheriff. Considering the night’s events, Dylan was very pleased. He had managed to break the ice both with the sheriff and Malia. He had expected it to be easy to get on friendly terms with the sheriff, after all, he looked and sounded just like his son and a little friendly conversation was bound to find mutual ground, if only because they shared the same goals of getting Stiles and Dylan back to their respective homes. Malia was a surprise bonus. He had thought that she would be a hard nut to crack, because of the combination of her being Stiles’ girlfriend and lover on the one hand, and her not yet having the basic skills to cope with such loss on the other. After all, she had been human only a few months, while having been a werecoyote in full-blown coyote form for years before that. Her emotions, her instincts, her feelings were still very basic and animal-like. The fact that she had come around so quickly had surprised him, but thinking about it, it could have been predicted. Food was a basic need of any animal. Feed a stray dog and it will follow you home. “God!,” he thought, “I should not be thinking of Malia as an animal. She’s a human, but a human who is suffering from feral child syndrome and doesn’t yet know entirely how to act around other people.” Still, many of the motivations that apply to a feral child also apply to an animal… and to Malia, as well.

“I’m over analyzing this,” he thought, opening the bedroom door. He froze at the threshold. Malia, dressed in pajamas, was sitting on the bed. She looked up.

“I’m… I… I’m sorry for the way I treated you earlier,” she said, looking contrite. “Stiles says that when I do something that’s hurtful to other people like that, I should apologize for it… unless I meant to do it, of course. I didn’t mean to be so… so… umh… cold to you,” she said, struggling to find the right words, “I’m just so afraid for Stiles, and I don’t know how to help him, and I feel so helpless., and I hate that.”

She was on the verge of tears.

Dylan crossed to her, sat beside her on the bed, and put his arms around her. “Oh, Sweetie,” he said, trying to comfort her, “it’s okay, I absolutely understand. It’s a hard situation to deal with and you’re trying to cope with it the best you can, and I think you’re doing a great job.”

He held her as she cried.

When she was done, they talked about Stiles and the life that she was building with him. She went on to tell him about everything that was going on around Beacon hills at the moment: how Kira was adapting to playing lacrosse, the fact that Danny and Mason might be dating (people had seen them together, but weren’t sure exactly what it meant), that there was a new staff member in the school dining room that no one seemed to like very much, that Lydia was either dating Parrish or Deaton (depending on whom you spoke to), etc., etc. It was all very “middle America,” very normal. You’d never believe that just under the surface, there was a teaming cauldron of supernatural stuff going on: there may be a new wendigo in town (a few people had gone missing and some human bones had been found with knife marks on them), Chris Argent and the Calaveras were still trying to track down Kate Argent, Gerard was still in his nursing home, there had been reports of strange creatures seen near the nemeton (but no one could decide if that sighting was valid or the result of teenagers drinking too much and seeing things).

Through all of this, Dylan listened. He was good at listening and now that talent served him two-fold, first in being able to relate to Malia and her problems; and second, in gathering information that might be useful for his survival and to get him home.

“Does the fact that you’re 23 years old mean that you don’t have to go to school with us?” Malia asked during a lull in the conversation.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” Dylan said.

“Well, if I didn’t have to go to school, then I wouldn’t” she said.

“Not going to school… not pretending to be Stiles… that might cause him problems when he gets back,” Dylan said, thinking out loud. “I mean, it certainly would affect his grades if no one were there to do his homework or take his tests.”

“True,” Malia said, “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Also,” Dylan said, continuing to reason through this line of thought, “a lot of the supernatural stuff that goes on in this town has a connection to that high school. Being there may give me some insight into what’s happening and how to fix it. So, maybe it would be good for me to go to classes with you guys.”

“Okay,” Malia said, “then I should show you the homework we have for tomorrow.”

“Probably a good idea,” Dylan said.

Two hours later, and Stiles’ homework was complete. It hadn’t been that difficult for the most part. Much of it Dylan had remembered from his own high school career and the rest he had gleaned from a quick read of the text book chapters that Malia had shown him. When he went to bed, Dylan felt ready to take on the world tomorrow, and hopefully get answers for why he was here and how he could get home.


	5. Calea ternifolia

Deaton opened the door to let Scott into his kitchen. “Did you bring it?” he asked.

“Yea,” Scott replied, “just like you asked.” He handed Deaton a plastic bag.

Deaton opened the bag and pulled out a battered and dirty red hoodie. There were stains on it, along with smears of dirt, and a few traces of what Deaton thought probably was blood. “Is the blood his?” Deaton asked matter-of-factly, pointing to one of the stains.

“Yea,” Scott replied, “pretty sure it is.”

Deaton nodded. “Where did you get it?” he asked.

“He left it in my room a few months ago, and I kept it, thinking he’d pick it up sometime or other,” Scott replied. “I started to have my mom wash it, but I thought that maybe I’d need his scent for some reason, so I left it.”

Deaton smiled. “This should do nicely.”

“Can I ask how you’re going to use Stiles’ hoodie to find him?”

“Of course,” Deaton replied, “I’m planning to find him using astral projection and lucid dreaming. This,” he held up the hoodie, “just gives me an anchor for him – something that’s closely associated with him that I can use to guide myself in tracking him.

“Like a werewolf uses scent to track someone,” Scott said, understanding dawning on his face.

“Exactly,” Deaton said, “think of it like a psychic scent.”

“But, what are astral projection and lucid dreaming?” Scott asked.

“Basically,” Deaton explained, “when we sleep, our minds can leave our bodies through a process called astral projection. The astral plain exists across all universes and dimensions. Astrally, we can travel anywhere in this universe and to any other universe or dimension as well, by moving through the astral plain. Most of the time, our conscious mind is asleep when this happens and it’s our sub-conscious mind that’s in the driver’s seat. Lucid dreaming allows us to control that process and remain conscious throughout it, even though our bodies are asleep The dream becomes a representation of our astral travels and we can go places and visit people within this astral dream state. Having something of the person we’re trying to find helps us to track them.”

“A psychic scent,” Scott repeated.

“Precisely,” Deaton said. “What I’ll do is to drink some tea made from _Calea ternifolia_ , also known as Dream Herb. He walked over to a countertop and picked up a glass container with a green, leafy substance in it, so that Scott could see what he was talking about. “This helps produce lucid dreams.”

“Wow,” Scott said, evidently impressed, “there’s a herb that can do that? That sounds great.”

“Actually, it’s kind of a two-edge sword,” Deaton replied, dryly, “this herb works quite well for inducing lucid dreaming, but the side effects include nausea and vomiting, so you have to be careful with it.”

“Yuck,” Scott said, making a face.

“Yes, but it will be worth it, if it helps us get Stiles back,” Deaton said. “…and Dylan back to his home, too, of course,” he added.

“Absolutely,” Scott said, moving toward the door, “I told my mom I’d be back as soon as I could. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Deaton replied, “now it’s just a matter of sleeping on it.” He smiled at his own joke.

“Good luck, then,” Scott said, as he started to leave. Then, turning back toward Deaton, concern etched on his face, he added, “Please let us know what you find out, as soon as you can.”

“I will,” Deaton said, closing the door behind Scott.


	6. Emotions, Mazes, Lines, and Ms. Robertson

The three of them helped Stiles into Dylan’s trailer, Melissa opening the door while Linden and Posey half guided – half carried him in. It had been an emotional day for Stiles and he was glad for the help.

“Thanks,” he said, as he collapsed onto a seat. It took him some time to get complete control of himself. It had been a long time since he’d let his emotions get the better of him like that; before Allison had died, before the whole nogitsune thing had sent him into an emotional tail-spin, even before Jennifer had kidnapped his father. It was humiliating, breaking down in front of total strangers, but he felt better for having gotten it all out. Finally, he looked up at them sheepishly and said, “sorry I got so weepy back there. It’s just been a terrible day for me.”

“I can only imagine,” Melissa said, handing him back his wallet and the stuff that was in it. “It must be really scary, suddenly finding yourself in a different universe, with no friends or family or anything.”

“You have no idea,” Stiles said. “It sucks, mightily.”

“What can we do to help,” Melissa asked.

“I don’t really know of anything,” Stiles replied. I think I just need to rest.”

“Maybe you should go get some sleep,” Linden suggested. “If you’re going to start filming tomorrow, you’re gonna need it.”

“Yea,” Stiles replied, “Jeff said I should stay at Dylan’s place. Trouble is, I don’t know where it is.”

“I can tell you,” Posey said, clapping him on the shoulder. “It’s not far from here. It’ll be easy to find.”

“Cool,” Stiles responded, “does anyone know when I’m supposed to be here tomorrow?”

“No one’s given you a call sheet?” Linden asked.

“What’s a call sheet?” Stiles asked, not having a clue what they were talking about.

“Shit,” Posey said, “we were so short on time earlier, I forgot to tell you about that.”

“Okay,” Linden said, “the three of us need to get you up to speed.”

While Melissa ran out to pick up a call sheet for Stiles, Linden and Posey explained what it was.

“It tells you what scenes are being filmed and which actors are in those scenes,” Linden said.

“And most importantly,” Posey added, “it tells you when you have to be here for makeup, and when you have to be on set in clothes and makeup, ready to shoot.”

Melissa returned with the call sheet and they explained what each of the columns, rows, and other sections of the sheet meant.

Then, Posey helped Stiles find Dylan’s clothes, which Dylan had left in the trailer during the shoot.

“Wow,” Stiles said, pulling out Dylan’s wallet and looking at the driver’s license, “he looks exactly like me.”

“He sounds exactly like you too,” Posey said, smiling. Then, he added, “Now, make sure you have the scripts and the call sheet. When you start learning lines, remember to focus on the scenes we’ll be shooting tomorrow.”

“They’re listed in the call sheet,” Stiles said, confidently.

“Yep,” Posey said.

“And, you might want to research Dylan tonight, at least a little bit,” Melissa said. “If you’re going to pretend to be him to the rest of the world, it would help to know as much about him as you can.”

“Good idea,” Stiles said.

“So, do you have everything?” Linden asked.

“All but one thing,” Stiles replied. “Does anyone know where Dylan’s car is?”

They showed Stiles to Dylan’s car and made sure he got off the lot safely. Thankfully, Dylan’s house was not far from the studio. Of course, the Teen Wolf studio was not a traditional studio. It was a large warehouse in the southeastern part of the Northridge section of Los Angeles, near Van Nuys airport. As Posey had explained, that’s the way a lot of television shows are filmed these days. The production company doing the show rented a large warehouse for the duration of the show and then they simply stop renting it when the show ends.

Practical, Stiles thought.

He pulled into the driveway of a nice, single story home. It took a minute to locate the remote for the garage door, but that was a minor issue. More importantly, there was another car in the garage… a Mercedes C300. Hum, Stiles thought, as he pulled in beside it, does someone else live here too? Surely, Posey, Linden, and Melissa would have warned him. Opening the door to the kitchen, he walked through and called, in a loud and what he hoped was a friendly voice, “Hi, I’m home. Anyone here?”

No human voice answered him, but he suddenly heard barking and the sound of claws scuffling across wood flooring.

“Dogs,” Stiles said aloud, “he has dogs. I hope they’re friendly”

Stiles had just gotten the words out of his mouth, when two dogs scampered into the kitchen. They were both small, mixed breeds, one a little larger than the other. The pair rushed toward Stiles with tails wagging furiously and yipping noises coming from their mouths. They made it almost to him before stopping dead in their tracks and sniffing the air. Their whole demeanor suddenly changed as they got Stiles’ scent. They stood there, eyeing him suspiciously, tails no longer wagging.

“Yea,” Stiles said, looking down at them, “I look like your dad and I sound like your dad, but I definitely don’t smell like him, do I.” The dogs whined in response.

Stiles wondered what he could do to win them over. Maybe food, he thought. He looked through the cabinets and didn’t see any dog food. “Where the hell does this guy keep it,” he wondered out loud. Next, he looked in the refrigerator to see if there was any people food he might use until he could find the dog food. Locating some sliced ham, he sniffed it to make sure it was still good, and tossed each dog a piece. Tails wagging, they snarfed it down instantly.

Stiles wondered where the heck their food was. He moved his search to the mud room, between the kitchen and the garage. He finally found it in one of the cabinets… a big bag of dry dog food. He poured some into their food bowls, made sure they had fresh water, and for good measure, threw them each another piece of ham. The dogs finally placated, Stiles headed into the living room.

He made a thorough search of the house, both to make sure that no one else was home and to get a sense of its layout. He wanted to make sure he knew where everything was.

When he had finished this initial survey, Stiles returned to a study located just off the living room. The first thing he noticed when he walked in was that there were two desks and two computers. “Someone else definitely lives here,” he thought. He looked at the desks. One had a picture of Dylan on it, while the other had a picture of a very beautiful blond girl.

He pulled Dylan’s phone out of his pocket, located Posey’s number, and pressed the dial button. Posey answered on the fourth ring. “Stiles,” he said, “are you alright? Did you make it to Dylan’s place okay?”

“Yea, I’m fine,” Stiles replied, “but when I got here I saw a second car in the garage. There are two desks and two computers in the study, and one of them has a picture of a drop-dead-gorgeous blond girl on it. So, does this blond girl live here and, if so, when will she be back?”

“Oh,” Posey said, “that’s Britt, Dylan’s girlfriend, but she’s in Florida shooting a movie, so you don’t need to worry about her showing up. I don’t think she’ll be back for another three or four weeks.”

“That’s good,” Stiles said, relaxing a bit. “Does this Britt person have a last name, just in case I need to use it for some reason?”

“Robertson,” Posey replied, “her last name is Robertson.”

“Cool, thanks,” Stiles responded. “I’ll call you back if I run into anything else I need help with.”

“Sure, any time,” Posey said, then added, “later.”

“Later,” Stiles said, and hung up.

Well, that was good. At least he had the house to himself. He wanted to get online and do some research into this Dylan O’Brien person. If he were going to pretend to be him, then he needed to know some basic information about the guy.

But, first, he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything most of the day, so starved. He walked back into the kitchen, where he had seen a menu for a Chinese delivery place. Finding it, he called and ordered the sweet and sour chicken, the moo shoo beef, the orange chicken, an order of egg rolls, and some rice. That should hold him for most of the evening.

He went back to the study and considered which computer might be Dylan’s. Obviously, the desk with Britt’s picture on it must be Dylan’s. If they kept pictures of themselves on their own desks… well, that would be creepy.

Stiles punched the power button and the computer started, quickly demanding a password.

He looked around and soon located a small sheet of paper with a set of logins and passwords neatly written on it. “Cool, he said, and typed in the password. To his relief, the computer completed the startup process and he was in. Launching a browser, he navigated to Wikipedia and typed in Dylan’s name. The page displayed, with a picture of Dylan in the upper right of the window.

“Huh, messy hair,” Stiles said, looking at the picture, “what’s up with that.” He scanned the article. “He’s 23, wow, a lot older than me." Stiles continued reading, “He was born in New York City, grew up in Springfield, New Jersey and Hermosa Beach, California. Cool, he’s a Mets fan, like me. The guy’s got one thing going for him anyway.”

Stiles was very excited to see that Dylan had stared in the Maze Runner movie. He loved the books, but there wasn’t a movie in his universe, yet. “What character did he play?” Stiles wondered, scrolling through the bio. He found what he was looking for in the Filmography section. “Wow!” Stiles shouted aloud, “he’s Thomas! That’s like the main guy.”

One of the dogs stuck its nose into the room to see what all the shouting was about. “Your dad played Thomas. He’s like the main guy,” Stiles said to the dog, which, in response, gave him a yawn and wandered off.

“Guess you’re not a film fan,” Stiles said to the dog, as it walked away.

He finished looking through the bio and then looked up Britt Robertson, just to be sure he covered his bases. He had just finished her bio, and was thinking about how lucky Dylan was to have such a gorgeous and apparently talented girlfriend, when the door bell rang. Dinner had arrived. Stiles paid for it with cash that Dylan had in his pocket, and hauled his food back to the study. While he ate, he checked out YouTube videos. If the guy were this famous, then there must be some out there.

There were a lot. Stiles looked down the list. There were a lot of references to _The Maze Runner_ movie. No surprise there. He looked at one of the trailers.

When it was over, all Stiles could do was sit there, saying, “Oh my God,” over and over. He knew it sounded stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. It was just so unbelievable to see someone who looked and sounded just like him as the main character in a movie based on books that he loved. He kept thinking that he should have memories of doing that – that it was him in the movie. The guy looked like him. The guy talked like him. It should be him and he should have memories of it, but of course he didn’t. It wasn’t him, but a guy in another universe who looked like him and who he was going to have to pretend to be. Then a funny thought hit Stiles and he couldn’t stop laughing. He was Stiles Stilinski pretending to be Dylan O’Brien, pretending to be Stiles Stilinski. How funny was that?

When he finally got control of the laughing, he decided it was time for him to start learning his lines. He had an early call tomorrow and he wanted to make sure he had them down before he went to bed. He checked the scenes he was filming tomorrow, found and marked them in the script, and started learning the lines. A lot of them were things he could never see himself saying, but hey, this was fiction, right?

He was well into the process, and making what he thought was good progress, when he heard the front door open and close. “Dyl, are you here?” came a female voice from the foyer.

Oh shit, Stiles thought. Aloud, he said, “I’m in here.”

A second later, a rather bedraggled-looking Britt Robertson walked in. Upon seeing him, she rushed forward and hugged him, planting a big sloppy wet kiss on his mouth.” Stiles tried to return the kiss. I can’t let her realize that I’m not Dylan, Stiles thought.

“Bet you’re surprised to see me,” Britt said, breaking the kiss, but remaining with her arms tightly around Stiles. He tried not to stiffen. The last thing she needed was to sense him all defensive.

“You have no idea,” Stiles said, trying to smile. “So… um… what are you doing home? I thought you were shooting a film in Florida.”

“Oh man, what a story,” Britt, said. Then she eyed the remains of his dinner. “Is that Chinese from Wang’s?”

“Yea,” Stiles said. She released her hold on him and made a beeline for the food.

“I’m starved,” she said, grabbing the box of sweet and sour chicken and the fork Stiles had been eating with.

“Anyway,” she continued, plopping herself down on a couch that was along one wall and returning to her story between bites, “You know about all the storms they’ve been having in south Florida this spring; so, anyway, this latest one flooded the set and the outside locations we’ve been using. Half the equipment was under water. It even soaked some of the costumes. Well, Tommy gave us a week off while they dry everything out and replace the damaged stuff. So, I thought I’d come home and spend some ‘quality time’ with you.” She smiled at him. He recognized that smile. It was the same one Malia used when she wanted to coax him into bed.

“Aww, that’s sweet,” he said. To himself, he added, Oh, Shit, how the hell am I going to get out of this. Even if I put her off until bedtime, it’s a cinch they don’t sleep in separate beds when they’re here together. What the hell am I going to do?

“So, how’s your week been,” she asked.

“Terrible,” he said, honestly, and added under his breath, “getting worse by the second.”

“What was that?” she asked, looking concerned.

“About the worst, I recon,” he said, trying to come up with something to cover his last words. “The worst week… I’ve had… since starting on the show.” He sat down next to her and tried to give her a weary smile.

“Oh,” that’s terrible,” she responded, stroking the side of his face. She put down the food and wrapped one arm around his waist, drawing him in for a comforting hug.

Oh shit, what the hell is she doing, Stiles thought, fearful that she might move her hand farther south, and not knowing what he would do, if she did.

“You want to tell me about it?” she asked.

“Um,” Stiles began, “We… uh… we’re really far behind in this week’s filming. Yea… like… scenes and scenes behind.” He was sounding stupid, even to himself. The trouble was that he didn’t fully know all the film-making terminology.

“Why’s that?” Britt asked, moving her hand upward and running it across his chest.

“Um, all kinds of things,” Stiles replied, trying not to show how very nervous he was becoming. “Some technical… some people… lots of stuff.”

“Oh,” Britt said, “I’m sorry.” She moved her hand up to his head and started running it through his scalp. It actually felt good – Like a scalp massage.

“It’s alright,” he crooned, leaning in to Britt’s hand, Stiles thought that he could definitely get used to this.

“I’m sure you could use a break,” Britt said, dropping her hand to his leg and running it up and down his inner thigh. Stiles launched himself off the couch with such force that he thought he was going to hit the ceiling. “I just need to spend a lot of time learning these lines for tomorrow,” he said, sitting down at Dylan’s desk. “So, I’m really, really sorry, but I’m probably not going to be much fun tonight.”

“Oh well,” Britt said, looking rather disappointed, “that’s the life of an actor, I guess. …want me to help you run lines?”

“Um… yea… that would be great,” Stiles said, thinking that it couldn’t hurt and might help. So he and Britt spent the next 45 minutes running through the lines in the scenes he was supposed to film tomorrow. Stiles was amazed that he was able to learn them so quickly. He had been afraid that his ADHD might stop him from focusing long enough to learn lines, but that didn’t seem to be happening.

“Well, if you ask me, I think you have this stuff down pretty well,” Britt said, looking up from the script. You’ve already done your analysis for each scene, right?”

Stiles wondered to himself what she meant by that. Aloud, he said, “No, not yet. That’s next. I’m gonna do that next.”

“That’s odd,” Britt said, frowning, “that’s usually the first thing you do – analyze the script. Then you learn the lines. Why are you switching it around this time?”

Oh hell, Stiles thought, I’ve screwed up now. How can I get myself out of this? Aloud, he said, “Um… well… um… Posey… Posey suggested I try it this way, so I decided why not.”

Britt arched an eyebrow, as if to say, “Seriously?”

“Well,” Stiles said, trying to extract himself from the situation, “I thought I’d give it a try… with a few scenes… you know… just to see how it worked.”

“Okay, whatever,” Britt said, putting down the script and getting up from her chair, “I’m tired, I need to unpack, and I need a shower. So, I’m going to leave you to your script analysis.” She smiled, kissed him on the cheek, as she walked past, and headed out of the room.

Stiles immediately rushed to the computer and looked up script analysis on the Internet.


	7. Call Sheet

“Mom, I’m home,” Scott shouted as he walked through the kitchen door. It had been a rough day, and he just wanted to get some sleep.

His mom walked into the room, holding a crumpled sheet of paper that had been smoothed out. “Was your new friend from the other universe here in the house today, by some chance?” she asked, a scowl on her face.

“No, just at the loft and the clinic, why?” he replied, plopping down at the kitchen table.

She handed him the piece of paper. Scott was surprised to see that the top right of the page held an image of a stylized wolf and the words Teen Wolf in italic. Below that and to the left was the word “Crew Call” followed by “6:30 A.” Below near the left side was a list of names under the heading “Cast.” Scott looked down the list. “Tyler Posey, Dylan O’Brien, Melissa Ponzio,” he read aloud. Next to these was another list of names under the heading “Role of.” Scott continued reading, “Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Melissa McCall.” Across the top of the sheet, someone had written in large letters, “Melissa.”

“This is from his show,” Scott said, referring to Dylan. “Where did you find it?”

“Crumpled up, on the floor of my bedroom,” she said, worry clouding her face. “Was he here, in our house?”

“I doubt it,” Scott said. “He appeared in Derek’s loft, just after Stiles disappeared. Now that I think about it, he was definitely in the middle of a scene or something when he appeared. He gave Parrish a line about kanima venom being okay to use or something. It confused all of us. Then he was really amazed when there were no cameras or anything, so I’m sure he was as much surprised as we were.”

“Then where did this come from?” Melissa asked, pointing at the paper.

“Maybe it got pulled in with him when he changed universes and just ended up here instead of where he was,” Scott suggested.

“Maybe,” Melissa replied, not sounding at all sure.

“I’ll call him,” Scott said, pulling out his phone and dialing Stiles’ number.

“Hello, Scott?” Dylan answered.

“Hey,” Scott replied, “sorry to call so late, but we… my mom and I, have a question. Oh, and I’m putting you one speaker phone, so my mom can be in on the conversation.” He punched the speaker button.

“No problem,” Dylan said, “I just finished Stiles’ homework. I figured I should pretend to be Stiles while I’m here… go to school, take his tests… that way no one will notice him missing.”

Melissa mouthed, “Wow, he sounds exactly like Stiles.”

Scott nodded at her. To Dylan he said, “My mom found a sheet of paper with a bunch of Teen Wolf stuff on it in her bedroom. We were wondering if you had any idea how it might have gotten there.”

“Not a clue,” Dylan said, sounding surprised, “what’s on it?”

Scott explained what was on the sheet of paper.

“That sounds like a call sheet,” Dylan said. “The ‘Crew Call 6:30 A’ means that the crew had to be there at 6:30 in the morning. That sounds like the one we had from a couple of days ago. You said the word ‘Melissa’ was written across the top.”

“Yea,” Scott replied, “why does it have my mom’s name on it.”

“Actually, it doesn’t,” Dylan replied. “Your mom is played by Melissa Ponzio on the show. She usually writes her name across the top of her call sheets and scripts. So, I’m sure it’s hers.”

“How did it get in my bedroom?” Melissa McCall asked.

“I don’t know for certain,” Dylan said, “but I guess it probably got sucked in at the same time Stiles and I swapped universes. Of course, that presumes that Stiles and I actually did swap universes. We don’t have any evidence of that, yet. All we know for certain is that I ended up here and he disappeared. Hopefully, he is back in my universe, where T-Pose and the others can take care of him. Anyway, that’s the only thing I can think of that makes sense.”

“And you haven’t been to my house?” Melissa asked.

“No ma’am,” Dylan said. “If it’s anything like the sets we use on the show then I have a good idea of what it looks like, but I’ve never been in the real thing.”

“Okay,” Melissa said, still frustrated, “I just don’t like the idea of stuff appearing from other universes in my bedroom.”

“I understand completely,” Dylan replied. “I don’t like the idea of myself appearing in other universes, either, but I didn’t have much choice in the matter.” Then, he added, “Look, Deaton, Scott, the Sheriff, and I are trying to figure out what happened and get everything back to the way it's supposed to be, but it’s going to take time, Mrs. McCall. Please bear with us, okay?”

“I guess I don’t have much choice, do I?” she responded.

“I don’t think any of us do,” Dylan said, frustration tingeing his own voice.

“Well,” Melissa continued, “I need to go to work and the two of you need to get to bed, if you’re going to school tomorrow.”

Sure,” Dylan replied, “and please let me know if any other weird stuff like this happens.”

“Oh, trust me, we will,” Melissa said.

“Absolutely,” Scott added.


	8. Commitment in Acting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some nudity (though not graphically depicted), and significant amounts of sexual innuendo.

Stiles was proud of himself. He had, in short order, been able to create a template for scene analysis and was now putting the finishing touches on the analysis for tomorrow’s scenes.

He smiled, he felt more confident than he had in a long time. “I’m so gonna rock this!” he said aloud to one of the dogs, which had wandered in to see what was going on.

“I’m sure you will,” he heard Britt say, as he jumped in surprise.

“Jeez, Britt!” he exclaimed, looking up to see her standing in the doorway, wearing a bath robe, “You scared about five years off my life.”

“Sorry,” she said, smiling, “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay,” sweetie,” he replied, returning the smile.

“You know,” she said, turning to leave, “you can join me, if you want?” As she walked away, she slipped out of the robe and draped it over one arm. Stiles sat there, gawking, too shocked to avert his eyes.

He started hyperventilating. “Oh-my-God, oh-my-God, oh-my-God,” he gasped under his breath, trying not to give away how shocked he was. What the hell was he going to do. He couldn’t do what she wanted. He wasn’t her boyfriend and he wasn’t going to get with her under false pretenses… and that wasn’t even taking into account his relationship with Malia. It also meant that he definitely couldn’t stay here tonight. That just wasn’t an option anymore. Maybe Posey could help. He grabbed Dylan’s cell phone and yanked it out of his pocket, but he was so agitated that he fumbled it and it landed on the floor. Getting up from the desk and trying too swiftly to grab it, he managed instead to kick it with his foot, sending it flying under the couch.

“Shit!” he said, getting down on his stomach to look for it. He finally spotted it, against the wall, all the way at the back of the couch. “Damn, this day just gets worse and worse,” he said, stretching to reach it. He couldn’t quite get to it, his fingers brushing the phone but unable to grasp it. He flailed and kicked with his feet, trying to stretch the additional inch he needed to get the phone, but couldn’t quite make it.

Finally, he stood up. He’d have to move the couch. Bending to lift one end, he let it drop almost instantly. “Jeez,” he whispered, rubbing his back, “what the hell is this thing made of, lead?” That wasn’t going to work and he didn’t want to slide the damn thing and leave scratch marks across Dylan’s nice wood floors, but maybe he’d have to. Looking around, he spotted a yard stick in one corner. That would do it. He grabbed the stick, got back on his stomach and finally managed to fish the phone out from under the couch. Panting, he collapsed on the couch, phone in hand.

He located Posey’s number and pressed the dial button.”

“Stiles?” Posey answered, “you okay?”

“No, I’m horrible,” Stiles said. “Britt came home… something about storms in Florida delaying the shoot down there.”

“That’s bad,” Posey said.

“Tell me about it,” Stiles moaned. “She said she wants to, quote, ‘spend some quality time,’ unquote, with me, which if I weren’t dating Malia and she weren’t thinking I’m Dylan, would be totally and completely awesome. But, I am and she is, so that’s a big freaking problem.”

“Oh,” Posey said, “so, she thinks you’re Dylan and she wants to fuck you. That’s not good.”

“Ya think!” Stiles replied, sarcastically, his frustration showing.

“Well, I’m not surprised, as long as they’ve been apart,” Posey said.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked.

“Well, Dylan was on The Scorch Trials shoot until February and by the time he got back, Britt had gone to Florida to begin her shoot. The only time they’ve had together was over Christmas, when filming was shut down for the holidays. So, they haven’t really seen each other since New Years. That means they’ve been apart nine or ten weeks… something like that. Do the math. No wonder she’s so interested in you.” He emphasized the word “interested.”

“Oh, shit,” Stiles said. “You’re right. What the hell am I going to do?”

“Hang tight, I’m coming down there,” Posey said.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Stiles replied.

“I have a plan,” he said, “I just have to run it by Jeff, first. Trust me, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles said, reluctantly, not sure that he should trust anyone he’d known for only a day, but also realizing that he didn’t really know anyone in this universe, so what choice did he have. Then he added, “But make it fast. Britt’s done everything but jump on top of me and try to rip off my clothes.”

“As fast as I can, buddy,” Posey said. “See you soon.”

“Soon,” Stiles replied, as they hung up.

Stiles was considering how to keep Britt at bay until Posey arrived, but was interrupted when he heard her voice shouting Dylan’s name from the other end of the house. She did not sound happy.

Oh hell, what now, he thought. Maybe he could pretend not to hear her. Her voice was muffled by the intervening walls and sounded rather faint, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch. She must be in the master bathroom. Maybe he could just say he didn’t hear her.

“Dylan!” she shouted again.

He tried not to think of her calling Dylan. He occupied himself in organizing his script, call sheet, notes and other stuff for tomorrow.

“Dylan Rhodes O’Brien! You answer me this instant!” Britt finally shouted, her voice loud and angry. No missing that.

Oh hell, I’ve got Dylan in trouble, now, Stiles thought. He got up and headed toward the master bath. Aloud, he shouted, “What’s wrong sweetie?”

“You took all of the towels out of the bathroom to wash them, and forgot to replace them with fresh ones… again!” she shouted. “Now, I’m standing here dripping wet and no way to dry off.”

“Ooops,” Stiles said. At least it wasn’t his fault. That really was Dylan’s bad.

“Well!” Britt shouted.

“Uh… what do you want me to do?” Stiles asked through the door.

“I want you to get me a towel, you idiot!” she shouted. “Honestly, Dylan, what the hell has gotten into you. You’re not acting like yourself at all. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a completely different person.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Stiles said, under his breath. Then, he realized that this was another reason to get the hell out of here as soon as he could. He couldn’t let her find out who he really was. She might decide he was crazy and call the guys in the white coats, herself.

Turning away from the door, he went in search of a towel. Fortunately, he didn’t have to look far. From his original survey of the house, when he first arrived, he remembered seeing the linen closet in the hallway. Thank God, it had plenty of towels in it. He grabbed a big plushy one for Britt and ran back to the bathroom door. Now, how the hell was he going to give it to her without getting a full frontal view. Then, he froze. It suddenly hit him. He had the realization that this was exactly why he had failed to convince Britt that he was Dylan in the first place… what he had done wrong from the very moment she had walked into the house. His problem was that he wasn’t committing to being Dylan. Dylan was a grown man. He was a teenager. He was letting his seventeen-year-old self, with its embarrassment at the idea of seeing naked women and it’s insecurity with all the things of adult life, get in the way. If he were going to pull this off, he needed to become Dylan O’Brien. Dylan wouldn’t hesitate to walk in there and hand his girlfriend a towel. Certainly, Stiles wouldn’t sleep with her, that would be just plain wrong, but he could do everything else, just as Dylan would. Yea, that was it… that was what he needed to do. “You’re Dylan and she’s your girlfriend,” he whispered, “you just need to own that fact.”

Setting his jaw, he opened the door and walked in, trying to act as contrite as he could.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he said, walking to the shower and proffering the towel. Then for good measure, he added, “I don’t know why I keep doing that. I promise I’ll remember from now on.”

She slid the glass door of the shower stall open and took the towel. “Humpf,” She said, the towel going over her head as she started to dry her hair, “what am I ever going to do with you?”

Stiles smiled. Maybe that had worked, he thought. Maybe I can get back on her good side.

It was then that he noticed it; a small, partially folded piece of paper lying on the floor near the shower. It looked oddly familiar. While Britt was occupied with drying her hair and chattering away about how men never seemed to take domestic chores seriously, he reached down and picked it up. He noticed a few drops of water under it. It had been put here after Britt started taking a shower, he realized. Looking at it, he understood immediately what it was and why it looked familiar. It was a work schedule from Beacon Hills hospital. He had seen a million of them at Scott’s house over the years. Scott’s mom, being a nurse, had copies tacked to a cork board in the kitchen, so that Scott would know her schedule. There was even a thumb tack clinging to one corner. He also noticed a hand-written change to it. It was in Scott’s handwriting. Holy shit, Stiles thought, this wasn’t a prop from the TV show. It was real. But, how the hell did it get here, in Dylan’s master bathroom?

“You know,” Britt said, sliding the towel off her head and moving on to dry other parts of her body, “I should make you sleep in the guest bedroom tonight for everything you’ve put me through.”

“Well, I can think of one reason you shouldn’t,” Stiles said, smiling as he casually folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. It was obvious from the tone of her voice that she didn’t mean it and this was just a bit of verbal flirting.

“What reason is that?” Britt asked.

“There’d be no one to keep you warm tonight,” he replied, stretching forward to give her a peck on the cheek.” For good measure, he gave her a wink.

“I’ll pull out the electric blanket,” she replied, leaning in to return the kiss with one of her own.

“That’s a sad thing, Ms. Robertson,” Stiles said in mock seriousness, “for a woman to depend on electrical devices for her comfort.” As he said it, he smiled what he hoped was a wicked little smile.

“You…!” she shouted, slapping at him playfully as her face turned scarlet. She was smiling, seemingly enjoying the banter that happens between two people in love. Stiles thought he was playing his part very well. He just hoped not too well. He still needed to figure out how to avoid staying here tonight.   Maybe Posey’s plan would work. He certainly hoped so.

“But, if you insist,” Stiles continued, “I’ll go quietly. He turned his back on her and started toward the door. He sniffled and pretended to wipe a tear from his eye.

“Oh, come here, silly,” Britt said, grabbing his shirt collar and pulling him backward into an embrace. She nuzzled him, her still moist hair against his cheek, the slight scent of shampoo and body gel wafting to his nostrils.

“I love you, Dyl,” she said, kissing him.

“You too,” he said, kissing her in return. He pushed to the back of his mind the slight pang of guilt at saying those words. After all, Dylan was somewhere out there and he did love her. Stiles was just acting as a temporary stand-in for him until he got back.

“Let’s go to bed,” Britt said, snuggling up to him.

“I just need a few more minutes to finish my scene analysis,” he said, hugging her. “Keep the bed warm for me and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’ll watch TV until you get here,” she said. “Try to hurry.”

“I will,” he replied, walking out of the room and back to the study.

Twenty minutes later and Stiles was pacing the study like a caged animal. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for Posey to arrive, but it had already been nearly an hour and a half, which he thought was way too long. He had briefly heard Britt puttering around in the master bedroom, then the television had gone on and he hadn’t heard any more movement. Maybe she fell asleep watching a show or something. He should be so lucky.

Suddenly, he heard Britt shout, “What the hell!” followed by “Dylan! Dylan! Come here now… hurry!”

Oh shit, Stiles thought, what was happening, now? “Coming!” he shouted and ran for the bedroom.

He burst through the doorway to find Britt in bed, the remains of a box of chocolates scattered around her, pointing at the television and saying, “Hollywood Gossip Today has a story about you. What have you done to get on their radar?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles replied. He wondered if it were something he had done in his short time in this universe, or something Dylan had done before he got swapped to Stiles’ universe.

The commercial ended. A simpering hostess with too much makeup appeared and started talking, “Well, apparently up and coming young star Dylan O’Brien had a major emotional meltdown on the set of his show, Teen Wolf, today, folks. According to reliable inside sources, O’Brien interrupted filming on the teen-oriented drama, with plenty of drama of his own, going off-script, insisting that he was not Dylan but, in fact, his character, Stiles Stilinski, and collapsing in tears when challenged by the director and his fellow cast-mates. Sounds like someone is taking their role a little too seriously. Anyway, it’s long been rumored that O’Brien, who recently starred in the hit movie, The Maze Runner, has been handling stardom far more easily than people would expect from an inexperienced and untested young actor.” Accompanying the report were still shots of Dylan, apparently taken both from The Maze Runner and Teen Wolf, that showed him very unfavorably; running with his mouth agape, looking terrified, and generally unfit for anything. The report went on to imply that Dylan’s sudden rise to fame had been too stressful and had caused him to become unhinged, mentally.

“What the hell?” Britt said. “What happened? What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said, “they’ve taken a couple of mole hills and made them into a mountain.” What was he going to say to persuade her that nothing important had happened? What could he say? He had to come up with something fast to cover this… something that would work on Britt and that he could use for other people as well. There were bound to be more questions about this, if it was on one of the nightly celebrity gossip shows… even one as lame as Hollywood Gossip Today, it would definitely be on others. Then, the old adage occurred to him that the best lies are the ones that stick closest to the truth, and he knew what he was going to say.

“There were a couple of minor things that happened and they’ve put them together to make their own sensational story,” Stiles said.

“What really happened, then? Britt asked.

“Well,” Stiles said, “I was trying to stay in character the whole day, because I thought we could get more scenes shot if I didn’t have to get back into character every time we did a take. So, some of the crew didn’t understand what I was doing and thought I had, ‘gone round the bend and up a pole,’ to quote one of them. That forced me out of character in the middle of a take and I was so stressed, because we were so far behind, that I had a panic attack. The director called a medic and we ended up taking more time than we would have if I’d just done it like I usually do. My bad.” He sighed. He hoped that would do the trick and convince her that he wasn’t crazy.

“You poor baby,” Britt said getting up and wrapping her arms around him. “You did that to try and help the shoot and they turned on you and called you crazy. That’s really mean of them.” She kissed his cheek, wrapping her arms around him. He felt her warm body pressing against his back, her hands on his belly. Stiles was just congratulating himself on getting through the crisis, when the doorbell rang.

“Who the hell is that?” Britt asked.

“I got it,” Stiles said, pulling away and heading for the front door.

He opened the door to find both Posey and Jeff standing there.

“Am I glad to see you guys,” he said in a low voice. “Come in and tell me the plan?” He ushered them into the study and closed the door.


	9. Monster:  Part 1

“Dispatch to unit 79, over…”

“Better get that Reeves,” Jack Carlton said, just before he took a bite of his taco.

Deputy Ben Reeves gave Carlton a stern look, as he put down his burrito and clicked the handset clipped to his shoulder. “Seventy-Nine here, go ahead dispatch.”

“Can you come off 10-7 and see the woman at 2342 East Emerald Street ? She reports a 415 in progress, behind the house… she believes a possible 459 to be in progress… over.”

“Ten-four dispatch,” Reeves replied. “Leaving the restaurant now… will radio when in vehicle.”

“Ten-four, 79… dispatch out.”

“Mrs. Cooper again,” Carlton said, “what do you wanna bet it’s not someone trying to break into her house, but those same raccoons we chased off last week?” He smiled as he popped the last bit of taco into his mouth.

“If it is,” Reeves replied, patting the gun at his side and smiling, “they may get shot attempting to flee arrest. You got a problem with that?”

“Nope,” Carlton said, returning the smile, “PETA and the state Game and Fish people may, but I sure as hell don’t.”

“Good,” Reeves said, putting his burrito into a bag and grabbing his drink, “I’m outta here.”

“Later,” Carlton said, starting on his second taco.

When Reeves had gone, Carlton pulled out his cell phone and dialed the dispatch operator’s non-emergency land line. She answered on the second ring, her southern drawl thick in his ear. “Hey Jack,” she said, “what’s up, sweetie?”

“Hi Martha,” he said. “you think I should back up Reeves on that 415?”

“I kinda doubt it, hon,” she replied, “everybody knows it’s not a burglar. Mrs. Cooper sees burglars every time a dog barks. It’s just those raccoons hittin up her trash cans again, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Carlton said, “but it’s really close to the full moon. Not sure I want to take any chances. If it’s okay, I’m going to follow behind him.”

“Sure,” Martha said, “I’ll mark you as out of service until I hear from you. Take care darlin.”

“You too, sweetie,” he said. Martha was a good person. A werecoyote from Anniston, Alabama, she had been recruited, along with Carlton and several others, by the sheriff and deputy Parrish, to bolster the department’s survivability. The attacks on the station by the kanima and the nogitsune had practically obliterated the department’s staff, and the sheriff was determined that it would not happen again. His solution was to hire a significant number of supernaturals to replace the deceased deputies.

Carlton quickly finished his remaining taco, grabbed his drink and headed to his patrol car.

 

=== ===

 

He knew something was wrong as soon as he arrived at the scene. The door to Reeves’ patrol car was ajar and there was a God-awful smell. Carlton had grown up on a farm in Iowa, where his parents had raised goats. Male goats were the worst smelling things you could have on a farm, which was saying something, but this was ten times worse. It was a rank, feral smell that was so intense that it almost made him gag.

He pulled his gun and headed toward the back of the house. He could hear growling sounds and someone’s footfalls on the dead grass of late winter. Then, he heard Reeves yell, “Freeze! Get your hands where I can see them.” There was a short pause, followed by Reeves exclaiming, “What the hell!” then a gunshot and finally, Reeves screaming.

Carlton sprinted toward the sound at full speed, shifting into werewolf form as he did so. When he rounded the back corner of the house, he saw Reeves on his back, struggling with a small, furry creature, which was in the process of taking a bite out of Reeves’ forearm. Reeves howled in pain as the creature bit off a large chunk of flesh, chewed, and swallowed.

Carlton roared at the creature, then fired a round into it. There was no effect, so Carlton fired two more rounds. Still nothing. Holstering his gun, Carlton charged the creature at full speed, slamming into it and knocking it away from Reeves. The creature flew 10 feet and landed with a thud and a howl of its own.

It was definitely the source of the stench. Carlton watched as the thing picked itself up and came toward him, claws at the ready.

The creature wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen. It was covered in dirty brown fur. Its face was twisted and deformed, with eyes that glowed a sickly yellow; not amber like a werewolf’s eyes, but more like the firefly yellow of a demon. It’s arms were disproportionately long and its fingers and toes ended in long curved claws. And, it was fast. It tried its best to sidestep Carlton to get to Reeves, feinting in one direction and then leaping, twisting, or dashing in the other to get past him. Despite the immediate threat from Carlton, it kept its eyes on Reeves the entire time. It was as if it considered Carlton merely an annoyance that was preventing it from getting to the person it really wanted. It was obvious that it wanted to turn Reeves into dinner. “Damn, if I’m going to let that happen,” Carlton said under his breath.

The two dodged and lunged at one another, Carlton always staying between the creature and Reeves. At one point, he got close enough to the thing to see small tusks protruding from its mouth. They looked razor sharp.

Finally, after several minutes of fake and dodge, of move and counter move, Carlton caught an opening in its defenses and raked his claws up its torso. The creature howled and lunged at him. Carlton shoved it away. When it came back at him, he performed a perfect whirling kick and connected his boot with its head, sending it sprawling to the ground. It lay there for a second, before getting up, shaking its head and then sprinting off into the woods behind Mrs. Cooper’s house.

Carlton could track it later, but he needed to check on Reeves first. He turned to find that Reeves had pulled himself against the wall of the house and was staring wide-eyed at him. “What the hell was that thing?” Reeves asked. “Better yet, what the hell are you?”

Carlton looked away, embarrassed. He knew this day would come, eventually. You couldn’t be a werewolf and have a job like this, in Beacon Hills of all places, without your human coworkers finding out. The sheriff and Parrish knew of course. That was one of the reasons they hired him, but practically none of the human deputies were in on the secret. Now Reeves knew. Of all the humans to find out, why did it have to be him.

“Ben,” he began.

“Don’t ‘Ben’ me, Jack,” Reeves said, a hard edge in his voice, “I can see your face and your hands with those claws; and I saw your speed, the way you dodged that… that thing. What the hell are you?”

“I’m… I’m… shit, Ben, I’m a werewolf,” Jack said. Jeez, it hadn’t been this hard when he told his family and friends that he was gay.

“A werewolf?” Reeves said, “there are no such things as werewolves.”

Carlton, who had not yet bothered to shift out of werewolf form chuckled, “The fangs, and claws and glowing amber eyes beg to disagree with you, dude.”

“Uh… uh… well…,” Reeves stammered, apparently unsure how to disagree with what his eyes were telling him.

“Let me take a look at that arm of yours,” Carlton said, moving closer to Reeves and stretching out one hand.

Reeves cringed, “Are you going to eat me or something?”

Carlton gave him his best ‘you didn’t just say that’ look. “No, I don’t eat people,” Carlton said, trying to keep his cool. “I’m a civilized werewolf. And, even if I did, I wouldn’t eat you. I mean, seriously, I don’t eat junk food, and trust me, all that shit you put in your mouth, makes you totally junk food.”

“What?” Reeves said, offended, “I am not!”

“Look, dude,” Carlton continued, “I’m your fellow officer… and I’m your friend… the last thing I’m going to do is to hurt you, so let me see that wound so I can help you.”

Reeves reluctantly stretched out his arm. He had pressed his handkerchief against it, trying to staunch the bleeding. It was now soaked with blood.

Carlton carefully removed the bloody handkerchief and looked at the wound. “Jesus!” Carlton exclaimed. The wound was about two inches wide, an inch across and probably close to an inch deep. It was bleeding a small, but study stream of blood, so no major arteries had been severed, but it would definitely require stitches. “That thing’s the one you need to worry about, not me,” Carlton continued. “It looks like it tried to make you the main course.”

“Yea,” Reeves said, moaning a little as Carlton examined the wound. “It would have too… if it… if it hadn’t been for you… thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Carlton said.

“What was that thing?” Reeves asked.

“Hell if I know,” Carlton said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Whatever it was though, it wasn’t normal. It was some kind of supernatural thing.”

Carlton heard Mrs. Cooper unlocking her back door. He quickly shifted back to human.

“Are you boys alright?” she asked, sticking her head out of the door. “I heard shootin. I knew it was a burglar… I knew it. What happened?”

“Uh… it wasn’t a burglar and it wasn’t Raccoons in your trash, Mrs. Cooper,” Carlton said, looking up at her. “It was a bear and it took a bite out of deputy Reeves, here.”

He carefully motioned for Reeves to remain quiet.

“Oh heavens!” Mrs. Cooper exclaimed, “I haven’t seen one of those in five or ten years. Is he alright? Is it gone?”

“I think he’ll be okay, with a few stitches and I think we chased the bear off, but better safe than sorry, so I’d like you to close your door, lock it, and stay inside until we advise you that it’s safe?”

“Okay,” she replied, “closing the door. Carlton heard the lock click.

“Bear?” Reeves questioned.

“We can’t let normal people know all the supernatural shit that goes on around here,” Carlton said. “They’d panic.”

“Okay, whatever,” Reeves said, a dubious look on his face.

“We need to get that wound patched up and call an ambulance,” Carlton said.

Reeves was shaky on his feet, probably due to shock and blood loss. With Carlton’s help, he was able to get back to their patrol cars. Carlton eased Reeves into the driver’s seat of his vehicle. He then clicked the call button on his hand set, “Unit 91 to dispatch… come in dispatch….”

“Dispatch here,” Martha replied in her deep southern accent that was all honey and molasses.

“Deputy Reeves has been attacked by a bear at the location of the 415,” Carlton said. “he has suffered a serious bite to his left arm. Can you please dispatch an ambulance to this location?”

“Unit 91, this is dispatch, we are sending an ambulance immediately. Do you require backup? Over….

“Not at this time, dispatch,” he replied.

“Ten-four,” Martha said.

As he finished talking with Martha, Carlton went to the trunk of his vehicle and removed a medical kit and a small walkie-talkie-like device. He hurried back to Reeves and began bandaging his wound. “This should take care of it until the ambulance arrives,” he told Reeves.

When he was finished, he clicked the button and said, “Dispatch, this is unit 91, can you please advise all SCAPE deputies to meet me on SCAPE channel 1, over....”

“Ten-four, unit 91, will request all SCAPE officers to meet you on SCAPE channel 1, over….”

“Thank you, dispatch. Unit 91, out.”

“What the hell is SCAPE?” Reeves asked.

“It’s a special team of the Beacon County Sheriff’s Office,” Carlton said, pulling the walkie-talkie from his pocket and turning it on. “It stands for Supernatural Crimes and Persons Enforcement. Most of the people who are on it are supernatural.”

“For God’s sake, Jack,” Reeves said, “how much supernatural stuff is there?” He was trembling. Carlton wanted to hold him, give him comfort. He reached toward him, but Reeves cringed and pulled away.

“A lot,” Carlton said, dropping his hand and ducking his head. “There’s a whole world of supernatural things, but Beacon Hills is special. It’s always attracted the supernatural more than any place in California… hell, more than in place in the western half of the country.”

The handset crackled and a man’s voice said, “This is unit 62, over.

That was Robert Trent, a werewolf, originally from upstate Maine. Carlton responded to him, “This is unit 91, we’re holding for the other SCAPE deputies. We’ll start when everyone is on, over.”

“Twelve-four, unit 91 standing by,” the man said.

“Twelve-four?” Reeves asked.

“We’re using a set of codes that start with 12,” Carlton replied, “to distinguish that we’re talking about a supernatural case. Most of the numbers are the same as per the normal 10 codes. I’ll explain the ones that are different.”

Reeves nodded.

The other’s joined the call quickly. Martha was on next, followed by Cynthia Sanchez in unit 12, and Kevin Albright in unit 37.

“Okay,” Carlton began, “at approximately 21:32 deputy Reeves, in unit 79, responded to a 415 at 2342 East Emerald Street. Upon arriving, deputy Reeves was attacked by a 12-85. I just need to add that a 12-85 is an unknown supernatural person or creature, for deputy Reeves benefit, as he is with me now.”

“Reeves is with you now and is hearing this?” Sanchez demanded, a note of worry in her voice.

“Affirmative,” Carlton replied, “It was necessary to explain everything to him, as he saw the 12-85 and also saw me as a 12-60.”

“Werewolf?” Reeves mouthed, questioningly. Carlton nodded.

“Shit!” Trent said, sounding angry, “just tell him all of our secrets, why don’t you.”

“I had to shift in order to keep him from being killed by the 12-85,” Carlton said, trying to be patient. “If I hadn’t, he’d be dead right now.”

“I don’t think this is very productive,” Martha said. “I think we need to concentrate on deputy Carlton’s report.” Martha was the den mother of all the supernaturals at the department. Her words carried a lot of weight, and Carlton was happy for them just now.

“Twelve-Four,” Trent said, “let’s get on with it, then.”

“Anyway,” Carlton continued, “the 12-85 knocked deputy Reeves to the ground and jumped on him. During the struggle, the 12-85 bit a large chunk out of deputy Reeves’ arm and ate it.” “Ate it?” deputy Albright asked.

“Affirmative,” Carlton replied, “I arrived just in time to witness the bite. I fired three rounds at the perpetrator, all of which struck it and none of which had any effect on it.”

“No effect at all?” deputy Trent asked, an astonished sound to his voice.

“The thing barely registered being hit,” Carlton replied.

He continued to explain in exact detail what had happened, what the creature had looked like and particularly what it had smelled like.

“Oh, great,” Sanchez said, in disgust, “if we catch this thing, it’s going to stink up our vehicles worse than goats. How lovely.”

“If it likes to dine on humans, then its heading in the right direction,” Trent said. “Beyond those woods it went into is the main part of Beacon Hills.”

“Trent’s right,” Albright said, “we need to find this thing or we could end up with a lot of half-eaten bodies on our hands.”

“Once I get Reeves in the ambulance, I will start tracking this thing,” Carlton said.

“On foot?” Sanchez asked.

“Don’t see much other way to do it at this point,” Carlton said. “I can’t drive a police car through those woods and even if I could, I couldn’t drive and follow the scent, even as smelly as that thing is.”

“Don’t go alone,” Martha said.

“I’ll go with him,” Albright said.

“Ok,” Carlton replied.

“Trent, you and Sanchez patrol along the opposite side of those woods,” Martha said. “See if you can spot anything coming out of them heading toward town. I’m going to alert Parrish about this.”

With their assignments clear, everyone signed off.

Reeves was quiet for a moment. “You’re really a werewolf, aren’t you? This isn’t just some kind of joke?”

“Yes,” Carlton replied, “I’m really a werewolf.”

“Isn’t that like having a disease?” he asked.

“Um… in a way,” Carlton said, sullenly, feeling defensive.

“Jesus Christ!” Reeves exclaimed. “Don’t you think you should have told me?”

“We’re not supposed to tell anyone we don’t absolutely have to,” Carlton explained, trying to get him to understand that he didn’t have much choice in the matter. “I wanted to, I really did, but I was under orders. This information can’t get out or there there’s no telling what the public might do. There could be lynching in the streets… people being burnt alive… you name it.”

“But Jack,” Reeves said, and Carlton could sense the hurt in his eyes, “we’ve been dating! You’ve had your tongue in my mouth. Hell, you’ve had your dick…. Thankfully, he trailed off. “You could have given me this… this… disease. You should have told me,” he finished quietly, shaking his head.

“No, Ben,” Carlton said, shaking his own head, “it doesn’t work that way. You can only be turned into a werewolf if you are bitten by an alpha werewolf. Trust me, I’m nowhere close to being an alpha.”

“So, are there any alpha werewolves in Beacon County?” Reeves asked.

Carlton snorted, “Actually there are two, and one of them is the rarest thing in all the werewolf world… a true alpha.”

“What the hell is that?” Reeves asked.

“Alphas are the leaders among werewolves,” Carlton explained, “Almost all alpha’s have either inherited their alpha powers from someone in their family or taken another alpha’s powers by killing that alpha,” Carlton said. “A true alpha is one who rises to become an alpha through the strength of their character and the goodness of their heart. It makes them extremely powerful. The true alpha here in Beacon County, Scott McCall, is one of the most powerful werewolves in the world, if not the most powerful. And one of the most famous.”

“Scott McCall?” Reeves asked, giving Carlton a hard look. “You mean Stiles Stilinski’s friend?”

“Yes,” Carlton said, smiling, “You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he’s a supernatural rock star. Almost everyone in the supernatural world knows who he is.” Carlton could hear the sound of the ambulance, though it was probably too distant for human ears to hear.

“And he’s famous, just because of this true alpha thing?” Reeves asked.

“That, and the fact that he defeated a rare supernatural creature called a kanima; that he and his pack destroyed an entire pack of alpha werewolves while at the same time defeating a Darach (which is an evil druid that practices human sacrifice, by the way); then, when Stiles was possessed by a Japanese demon called a nogitsune, he defeated it without killing Stiles, which no one thought was possible, and finally, there were the dozens of paid assassins that he beat the crap out of and sent packing when they showed up to kill all of the supernaturals in Beacon Hills. The kid has faced off against things that would have sent whole packs of alpha werewolves running home and crying for their mommies.”

“God, Jack,” Ben said, wide-eyed, “kanimas, Darachs, Demons, assassins… what the fuck kind of stuff goes down in this town?”

Jack laughed, “Dude, you have no idea. That thing that attacked you was just one of many weird supernatural critters that are out there."

“Oh God,” Reeves said, shivering, whether from fear or loss of blood, Carlton couldn’t tell. “This just completely creeps me out, dude. I don’t want to have anything to do with any of this supernatural shit… that’s just beyond what I can handle right now.”

“Look,” Carlton said, reaching out to Reeves, hoping he would take his hand, “I love you, very much, and I want to keep dating you. I know it will take you time to get used to this, but I really want us to try, okay? I’m a good person, Ben, and I know you are too, and I think we can get this to work.”

“We’ll see,” Reeves said, noncommittally, not looking at Carlton.

Carlton didn’t want to give up the chance for them to be together. “At the end of the day,” he said, tears coming to his eyes, I’m just a werewolf standing in front of a boy asking him to love him.”

Reeves snorted, “We’re in the middle of all this weird-ass bullshit, and you’re quoting Notting Hill to me?”

“I know it’s one of your favorites,” Carlton said, trying to smile as he wiped his eyes. “I love you. Please love me back.”

“I’ll keep an open mind,” Reeves said, tears in his own eyes. “That’s all I can promise right now.”

“Fair enough,” Carlton said, as the ambulance pulled into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that 10 Codes are the same as 12 codes, except for supernatural-specific items.
> 
> BEACON COUNTY CALIFORNIA SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT 11 & 12 CODES:  
> Codes that begin with 12 are for use by SCAPE Team authorized personnel  
> SCAPE (Supernatural Crimes and Persons Enforcement)Team
> 
> 12-1 Poor reception  
> 12-2 Good reception  
> 12-3 Change frequency  
> 12-3a..Return to normal frequency  
> 12-4 Message received / OK  
> 12-5 Relay message  
> 12-6 Busy  
> 12-7 Out of service at:________  
> 12-7a Out of service at home  
> 12-7OD Off duty  
> 12-8 In service  
> 12-9 Repeat  
> 12-10 Off duty  
> 12-12 Subject present / hold info  
> 12-13 Advise road/weather conditions  
> 12-14 Escort  
> 12-15 Prisoner in custody  
> 12-16d Pick-up drugs  
> 12-19 Return to:___________  
> 12-20 Location  
> 12-21 Phone  
> 12-22 Cancel  
> 12-23 Standby  
> 12-26 Ambulance needed (supernatural)  
> 12-27 Request DDL info via TT  
> 12-28 Request registration via TT  
> 12-29 Check for wanted  
> 12-30 Wanted  
> 12-31 Not wanted  
> 12-32 Drowning  
> 12-33 Alarm Sounding  
> 12-34 Open door  
> 12-35 Open window  
> 12-39 Message delivered  
> 12-49 Proceed to  
> 12-55 Intoxicated Driver  
> 12-56a Attempted suicide  
> 12-60 Werewolf  
> 12-60a Werewolf (Alpha)  
> 12-61 Werecoyote  
> 12-62 Banshee  
> 12-63 Kitsune  
> 12-64 Nogitsune  
> 12-65 Oni (or other demon)  
> 12-66 Wendigo  
> 12-67 Kanima  
> 12-68 Hunter  
> 12-69 Professional Assassin  
> 12-70 Berserker  
> 12-71 Druid  
> 12-72 Darach  
> 12-73 Werejaguar  
> 12-85 Unspecified or unknown supernatural Person, thing, or event  
> 12-86 Any radio traffic?  
> 12-97 Arrived at scene  
> 12-98 Finished with assignment
> 
>  
> 
> 11-24 Abandoned vehicle  
> 11-27 Urgent / DDL info via TT  
> 11-28 Urgent Reg. Check via TT  
> 11-29 Urgent / Check for wanted  
> 11-41 Ambulance & Fire needed  
> 11-44 Coroner's case  
> 11-54 Suspicious vehicle stop  
> 11-79 Accident w/ambulance enroute  
> 11-80 Major accident  
> 11-81 Minor accident  
> 11-82 Property damage accident  
> 11-83 Accident - no details  
> 11-84 Traffic control detail  
> 11-85 Tow truck needed  
> 11-86 Rolling car stop  
> 11-95 Traffic Stop  
> 11-98 Meet ____________  
> 11-99 EMERGENCY! Officer needs help fast. All units respond
> 
>  
> 
> Penal Code:  
> 187 PC Murder  
> 207 PC Kidnapping  
> 211 PC Robbery  
> 220 PC Assault with intent to rape  
> 240 PC Assault  
> 245 PC Assault with a deadly weapon  
> 261 PC Rape  
> 288 PC Crimes against children  
> 451 PC Arson  
> 459 PC Burglary  
> 470 PC Forgery  
> 476a PC Check, NSF  
> 594 PC Vandalism  
> 415 PC Disturbance / Fight  
> 602 PC Trespassing  
> 647 F Public Intoxication  
> 702 PC Parking in front of fire hyd.


	10. A Teen Werewolf in L.A.

“Seriously? That’s your big plan? Tell her the truth?” Stiles was mortified.

“What’s wrong with it?” Posey asked, sounding like his feelings were hurt.

“Everything!” Stiles exclaimed, “eeeeveeereeeething!”

Posey looked at Jeff for support.

“Stiles,” Jeff said, raising a hand to quiet him, “when Posey explained to me what the situation was, and suggested that we tell Britt the truth, I didn’t buy it at first, either. But his reasoning is good. It’s going to be hard enough on you trying to pretend to be Dylan to the rest of the world, doing it at home, too, would be doubly hard. If we bring Britt in on what’s really going on, that solves the whole home side of the equation.”

“If you had said that to me before I left the studio, I might have agreed with you,” Stiles responded, pacing the floor in front of them. He was angry and he didn’t mind them knowing it, “but I’ve spent the last four hours convincing Britt that I’m Dylan. I’ve even seen her naked. Now…”

“You saw her naked?” Posey asked. “Wow, I thought you weren’t going to sleep with her.”

“I… I didn’t sleep with her,” Stiles replied, flustered. “Dylan didn’t leave any towels in the bathroom, so I had to hand-deliver one for her because she was dripping wet and that’s what boyfriends do. If I’m going to be an actor, then I need to be able to convince Britt that I’m Dylan. If I can do that, then I can convince an audience that I’m Stiles.”

“But, you are Stiles,” Posey said, confused.

“Yea, but I’m the real Stiles, not Stiles as you’ve written him,” Stiles said, trying to distinguish the difference. “Trust me, I wouldn’t say half the things you guys put in my mouth on your show.”

“Really?” Posey asked.

“Really,” Stiles replied. Posey looked unconvinced. “Okay, for example, There’s this scene that I saw on somebody’s YouTube channel where Scott and I are sitting on the bench at a Lacrosse game and Coach orders me into the game and I say something like ‘you want me to play?’ and he says ‘yea, unless you want to play with yourself,’ and I say ‘I already did that twice today.’

Posey snorted.

“Great comic relief line, right?” Stiles said forcing a smile and looking at Posey nodding as he tried to suppress a broad grin.

“Trouble is, I never said it,” Stiles dropped the smile and turned dead serious. “Do you think for one minute that I’d say something like that to a teacher? Of course not. I mean, I have my moments. That sourwolf line was real.”

“So, you’ve been introduced to the YouTube videos about Stiles,” Jeff said, a smirk on his face

“Some of them,” Stiles replied, wondering what the smirk was for. “By the way, what the hell is a Sterek? I keep seeing and hearing references to it on the Internet.”

“Ah… um… um…,” Posey began, giving Stiles a classic “deer-in-the-headlights” look. He turned to Jeff, “Jeff, can you answer that for Stiles… please?”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “We’ll talk about that later. Right now, we need to discuss how we’re going to handle Britt.”

“Yea, thanks for the reminder,” Stiles returned to the point he was trying to make before Posey interrupted him. “anyway, I’ve convinced her that I’m Dylan, and if you try to change that now, then, first of all, she probably won’t believe you. She’ll think I’m crazy, just like that story they had tonight on Hollywood Gossip Today, and she’ll insist on having me committed or something.”

“That story made it to Hollywood Gossip Today, already?” Jeff said, sounding more surprised than Stiles had expected. “Well, that doesn’t matter, really. I bet we can convince her, anyway,” Jeff said.

“Maybe you can,” Stiles replied, “but if you do, that brings up the second problem. If she believes you, then she knows I’ve been lying to her and that I’ve seen her naked and been playing sexually suggestive flirty games with her. She’s going to think that I was faking being Dylan to sleep with her and she won’t have a good reaction to it.”

“Let me handle that,” Jeff said, coming closer and giving Stiles a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

At that moment, the door to the study opened and Britt, wearing a robe over her pajamas, walked in. “What’s going on, sweetie?” she asked Stiles. “Why are Jeff and Posey here? Is it about that stupid story on TV?”

“God, this day can’t get any worse,” Stiles whispered to Jeff, before turning to Britt and saying in a louder voice, “Jeff and Posey just came over to….”

“Tell you that Dylan isn’t really Dylan, he’s actually the real Stiles,” Posey said, smiling at Britt.

Turning his head back toward Jeff, Stiles said, “I take that back. It just got worse.”

“What are you talking about?” Brit said, a confused and worried look clouding her face.

“Okay, Jeff, “Stiles said, sarcastically, “handle it. Let’s see how you get us out of this one… boss.”

For the next 10 minutes, Jeff explained, in what Stiles thought was excruciating detail, how Dylan had disappeared from the set that morning, how Stiles had appeared in his place, how they knew it was Stiles from his watch and the stuff in his pockets, how you could see the exchange happening in the 15 frames recorded during filming, and so on and so forth, until Stiles was almost ready to gag. Finally, Jeff had Stiles show Britt his driver’s license, social security card, and all the other stuff in his wallet, which he was now keeping in his front pocket, to free space for Dylan’s wallet in his back pocket. Jeff ended the presentation by saying, “There you have it. Will you help us keep Stiles’ secret until we can get Dylan back?”

“Jeff Davis, how could you?” Britt said, launching into a triad about how Dylan was obviously suffering from some sort of mental breakdown and how Jeff and Posey were conspiring to keep it under wraps until filming for season five was over. “He needs help, and you’re keeping him from getting it just so you can get a little more footage out of him!”

Turning to Stiles, she said, “Dylan, sweetheart, we’re going to get you the best help we can find, okay?”

“Whatever you say, babe,” Stiles said, giving her a peck on the cheek. He was just about to turn to Jeff and say, “I told you so,” when there was a loud crash at the other end of the house. It sounded like a large object had smashed into something. There was the sound of shattering glass, followed by a scream and someone exclaiming, “Ouch! Oh my God!”

“What the hell was that?” Britt said, an almost panicked expression on her face.

“That sounded like it came from the master bath,” Stiles said. He and Britt immediately ran for the other end of the house, with Jeff and Posey just behind.

They burst into the master bath to see either Liam Dunbar or Dylan Sprayberry (Stiles wasn’t sure which, given the events of the day) standing naked in the shower and pulling shards of broken glass from his left arm. The shards were obviously from the shower door, which lay smashed on the bathroom tile just outside the shower stall. His arm, which dripped blood onto the floor of the stall, looked half shredded. Upon seeing four people staring at him, Liam/Dylan grabbed Britt’s towel off the remains of the door and covered himself. Whoever he was, he was also soaking wet and had shampoo dripping from his hair.

“Scott,” he said, pulling more glass shards from his arm, flinching as he did so, “where am I and who are these people, and is this that Dylan guy you told me about over the phone?” this last he said with a nod toward Stiles.

“That isn’t Scott, Liam,” Stiles said, Liam’s words confirming what he had suspected. “He’s Tyler Posey. He plays Scott on the television show they have. And these are Jeff Davis and Britt Robertson. But the good news is that I’m the real Stiles. Sorry dude, but you’ve been sent to the same universe I ended up in.”

“Oh, shoot,” Liam said, slumping slightly and looking dejected.

Stiles started to say something else, but was interrupted by Britt, who shoved him out of the way and moved forward so she could turn to face the entire group. “You guys are unbelievable,” she yelled, her face flushing with anger. “You’ve set all of this up with Sprayberry and the fake blood and all to convince me that Dylan is really Stiles,” she seethed. “You’re not going to fool me. I’m going to tell everyone what you’re doing. We’re going to get Dylan the proper help and I’m going to get my lawyers after you. This is disgusting!”

“What’s she talking about?” Liam asked Stiles, looking a little scared.

“She thinks that we’re making all of this up about Dylan and me swapping universes,” Stiles replied. “She thinks that I’m Dylan and that I’ve lost my mind. So, she’s going to have me committed and sue the studio for ‘faking’ this whole thing so they can continue filming.”

“Oh,” Liam said, nodding, “okay, I get it.”

“You did say that the real Dylan is safe in our universe with Scott, right,” Stiles asked, wanting to confirm what he thought he heard.”

“Yea,” Liam responded, “Scott said that he even cooked dinner for your dad and Malia.”

“He cooks?” Stiles asked, with a sour face. “Not only does the guy act and have a drop-dead-gorgeous girlfriend, but he can cook, too. I’m beginning to get an inferiority complex, here.”

Meanwhile, Britt had finished her tirade and concluded with, “I’m going to start calling people right now!” She started to storm out of the bathroom.

“Sweetie, would you please humor me for a second?” Stiles asked, in his best ‘sweetest Dylan’ impression. “I think I can clear up this whole thing if you give me just 15 seconds. Then you can call whomever you want, okay?”

Britt rolled her eyes and made a face, but nodded.

“Liam,” Stiles said, turning to face him, “shift for us, please.”

“What?” Liam said, shocked. “You really want me to do that?”

“Please,” Stiles said, “it will keep me out of the mental health care facility, if you do.”

Liam nodded. “Okay, just let me get the last of this glass out of my arm, first.”

“Really?” Britt said, a disgusted look on her face, “you’re going to turn into a werewolf?”

“Yea,” Liam said, removing the final piece of glass. His arm had stopped bleeding and already looked like it was beginning to heal., “Stiles asked me to and I thought I would. Is there a problem with that?”

“No, dude,” Britt said, almost laughing, “I think it will prove to everyone, especially Dylan himself, that you guys are faking and that he needs serious help. So, have at it.”

“Ok,” Liam said. He flicked his fingers and claws spring from their tips.

“How the hell did you do that?” Britt asked, taking a step back.

“The same way I’m going to do this,” Liam said, as his eyes began to glow amber.

“What the fuck?” Britt said, taking another step back.

Then, Liam fully shifted and Britt was face-to-face with a real werewolf.

“See, I told you,” Stiles said to Britt. “Meet my friend, Liam, the werewolf.”

“Wow, that’s so freaking cool!” Posey exclaimed, practically jumping up and down with excitement.

“And you, Mister producer guy,” Stiles said in triumph, turning to face Jeff, “your plan would have gotten me sent away as being crazy.” Smiling, he turned back to face Britt, just in time to receive the full force of her slap. “Ouch,” Stiles said, “what the….” And then, another slap hit him from the opposite side.

“You… you bastard,” Britt said, continuing to rain down blows on Stiles. “You tricked me into believing you were Dylan!” …Slap! “You saw me naked!” …Slap! “You would have slept with me!” …Slap!

Stiles grabbed her wrists, trying to stop the beating he was getting. “Britt, wait a sec….” He screamed in agony as Britt kneed him in the groin. Collapsing onto the tile floor, he looked up to see Britt aiming a kick at his head. Just as she was about to deliver the blow, Liam sprang on her and whirled her around and away from Stiles.

Just calm down, lady,” Liam said, holding her out of reach of Stiles.

“”Let go of me, you Goddamn werewolf bastard,” she shouted. “I’m going to kill the little dweeb!”

“Told you she wouldn’t take it well,” Stiles gasped at Jeff, as he slowly got to his knees. Damn, getting kneed in the balls hurt like hell.

Jeff, who managed to say “Sorry,” to Stiles as he moved to help Liam with Britt, got in front of her and held up both hands in a gesture of ‘stop.’ “Look,” he said to her, “just calm down and let me explain what’s going on. We didn’t intend to deceive you and I know for a fact that Stiles was not going to sleep with you. So, just cool it for a minute and let us talk this out, okay?”

It took her several more minutes to calm down, but eventually she ran out of steam and just stood there, with Liam’s arms wrapped around her.

“Okay, please just listen,” Jeff began. “When Dylan disappeared and Stiles appeared in his place, we were at a loss as to what to do. No one outside the set would have believed us if we had told them the truth. So, I asked Stiles to pretend to be Dylan to the outside world. We didn’t know you were going to show up. When you did, it took Stiles completely by surprise, so he fell back on doing what I’d asked him to do. When it became apparent that you wanted to get… um… intimate with him, he called Posey to ask him for help, so he could maintain his cover without having to sleep with you. In fact, he was very specific that sleeping with you was not an option. So, we came down here and the rest… well… the rest you know.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me, the way that Stiles has been lying to me the whole time?” she asked.

“You don’t,” Jeff said, honestly, “but, other than Stiles pretending to be Dylan, we have told you the truth so far, and we have even explained our reasoning for that.”

“Humph,” she replied, "well, would you at least call off your werewolf goon. I think he’s bruising me.”

“I’m not a goon, lady,” Liam said, angrily. “I just didn’t want you beating up my friend.”

“Do you promise not to attack Stiles or anyone else?” Jeff asked.

Britt nodded, sullenly.

Liam released her and she turned to face him. “So, Dylan is okay?” she asked the werewolf.

“Yea, Scott says he’s fine,” Liam said. “Scott said he was a little freaked out, but nothing serious. Now, I kinda get how he feels.”

Turning to Stiles and eyeing him up and down, she said, “So, you’re Stiles Stilinski, in the flesh,”

“Yea,” Stiles said, still in a little pain from Britt’s knee, “that’s me.”

“Why should I trust you to be in my house?” she asked. “Why should I want to help you deceive other people by pretending you’re Dylan?”

“Because,” Stiles said, “no one would believe you if you told them the truth. That little demonstration Liam gave you… he’s not going to do it for anyone else and they’ll think that you’re the crazy one, ‘cause, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, I’m Dylan O’Brien. Also, it would hurt Dylan’s reputation if anyone thought that he seriously believed he was Stiles. You love Dylan, so you won’t do anything to hurt him or his reputation.”

“Jeez, dude, you can be really ruthless,” Brit said, a note of disgust in her voice.

“When I have to be,” he replied. “Just work with us and not against us and we’ll do everything we can to get Dylan back to this universe and Liam and me back to ours.”

“You’d do that anyway,” she said.

“I’ll put effort into getting Liam and me back,” Stiles said, flatly, “the effort I’d expend on Dylan is negotiable. And yes, it’s ruthless, but it’s one of the few bargaining chips I have at the moment, so I’m willing to use it, if I have to.”

“What do I need to do?” she asked.

“Liam and I get to stay here in the guest bedrooms. I get to use Dylan’s desk in the study and anything else that belongs to him if I need to. We’ll pay for our own groceries and get space in the refrigerator and the use of the stove, dishes, etc. We’ll clean up after ourselves and we can use the hall bathroom for showers, shaving, and stuff. Reasonable?”

“Looks like we’ll all be using the hall bath for a while,” Britt said, gesturing to the smashed shower door.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Stiles said, turning to Jeff, “the studio will repair Ms. Robertson’s shower door, okay?”

“Sure, Jeff said, smiling, “I’ll send someone out in the morning to take care of it.”

“Good,” Britt said, smiling for the first time since entering the bathroom, “I have only one thing to add.”

“What’s that?” Stiles asked, worried that she’d ask for something completely outrageous.

“If you’re going to play Dylan,” she said, “then you need to attend the movie premiere I have to go to on Thursday evening.”

“Fair enough,” Stiles replied, “I’ll be happy to do it, provided Jeff lets me get away from the set.

“Sure,” Jeff said, waving his hand, “not a problem.”

“Oh,” Stiles added, still addressing Jeff, “I almost forgot, you do intend to hire Liam to replace this Sprayberry guy until he gets back, right?”

“Of course,” Jeff said, “I’ll talk to him about it right now.”

“Good,” Stiles replied. “I’m tired, it’s late, and I have an early call tomorrow, so I am going to bed.” He waved as he headed to the bedroom to find Dylan’s pajamas.


	11. Sleeping Druids

Deaton floated above his bed, near the ceiling. Looking down, he could see his body, lying on its side, clutching Stiles’ tattered red hoodie. Entering the lucid dream state had been easier than he’d anticipated. The nausea from the _Calea ternifolia_ had been mild and the passage, first into lucid dreaming and then into astral projection, had been quick. Now, he was ready to proceed.

He focused on Stiles and the desire to locate him. After a few moments, he felt a pull, as if he had a rope tied to his waist, tugging on him. He allowed the pull to take him and his astral body began to move, passing up and out of his home. Soon, he was hurtling at incredible speed away from town, toward Beacon Preserve. After a few moments, he slowed and dropped down below tree-level. A few more moments and he came to the place he had suspected was at the center of this issue, the nemeton.

Seeing the nemeton through the eyes of his astral body, it looked very different from someone seeing it with the eyes of a physical body. It teemed with energy. Currents of energy in a rainbow of colors flowed into and out of it, pulsating and swirling, flashing and vibrating, surrounding and penetrating it. Deaton was amazed at the quantity and variety of energy in and around the old stump. He had thought of the nemeton as an old, worn out shell of itself, with only occasional flashes of power. The truth was entirely different and he couldn’t understand why. Except for Paige, there had been no sacrifices at this site in many decades.

And there was something more than the flow of energy going on there … something foreign and strange. A great ball of violet energy sat atop the stump, pulsing and whirling. It was Fay in origin, certainly. He had, in his younger years, sampled a lot of magical practices, including Fay magic. This had exactly that flavor about it. What’s more, this particular structure had the look and feel of a portal of some sort. Wherever Stiles had gone, the conduit for his journey had been this portal. He allowed the pull to take him again and plunged forward.

It was a wild rollercoaster ride through the portal. At what seemed like fantastic speed, he hurtled through a kaleidoscope of colors and energies, whipped about, twisted around, and slammed through curves and corkscrew turns, only to be spit out into a pitch-black room. Even though it was absolutely dark, he could still see traces of energy moving along the surfaces of objects in the room. He was floating just above and to the side of an almost exact duplicate of the nemeton, which was sitting on a concrete floor in some sort of warehouse-like building. This nemeton did not have nearly the energy as its counterpart in his world. Only faint traces moved over its surface; just enough for Deaton to distinguish it in the darkness. Yet, above it was a copy of the same portal from his world… a big violet ball, as wide as the nemeton.

Focusing on Stiles, he let the pull rocket him up and out of the building and away over a large city at night. If Dylan were to be believed, this would be the Northridge area of L.A. A short time later and Deaton was slowing, dropping out of the sky and into a nice, middle-class home in an equally nice sub-division. He found himself hovering above a bed, where Stiles slept. Deaton could tell that Stiles was dreaming. He could actually see into Stiles’ dream world. Willing himself to do so, Deaton stepped into Stiles’ dream.

Deaton stood next to the table in the sheriff’s kitchen, in Stiles’ dream. The sheriff, Malia, and someone who looked like Stiles sat at the table, while another Stiles stood next to it.

“You don’t need to come back, Dylan here has everything under control” the sheriff said, indicating the person who looked like Stiles, siting at the table.

“Yea,” Malia said, running her hand through Dylan’s hair. He’s a lot better than you. He cooks and cleans, and he’s great in bed.

“But… but… I belong here, he doesn’t,” Stiles said, pathetically.

“Doesn’t matter,” the sheriff said, “we like him better.”

“You gotta face it dude,” Dylan said, smiling, “your just a loser. No one wants you… never have and never will.” Dylan turned and kissed Malia on the mouth.

“Stiles,” Deaton said to the standing figure, “why are you dreaming this?”

“Because Liam told me that Dylan was cooking for dad and Malia,” Stiles said sadly. “I can’t cook. Dylan is a movie star and he cooks, and I’m just a loser.”

“What do you mean that Liam told you?” Deaton asked, confused.

“What?” Stiles said, looking at Deaton for the first time. “Wait… what are you doing here? You’re not part of my dream.”

“You’re right,” Deaton replied, smiling, “I’m not. I’m contacting you through lucid dreaming and astral projection. I’ve come to make sure you’re okay and see how we can get you back and return Dylan to his universe.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asked.

“Yes,” Deaton said.

“You don’t need to,” the sheriff said. “We like Dylan a whole lot better than Stiles.”

“That’s not true,” Deaton said, addressing Stiles. “Your dad and Malia are worried sick about you.”

“I’m not worried,” Malia said, continuing to run her hand’s through Dylan’s hair. “I have a great new lover. He can cook. He can do things to me in bed that Stiles can’t even dream of, so why should I worry?”

“See,” Stiles said, pointing to Malia, who was now French kissing Dylan.

“Stiles, this is just a dream,” Deaton said. “It’s all in your head.

“You’re in my head, too,” Stiles replied, “and you’re real.”

“Yes, but they aren’t,” Deaton said. “They’re just part of your dream. You can control them. Visualize them disappearing, and they will.”

“He’s a loser,” the sheriff said. “He can’t even do that right.”

Stiles stood next to the table looking downcast and sullen.

“You can do it, Stiles,” Deaton said. “You can make them disappear. I need to talk to you and I can’t, if they’re distracting you.”

“No one wants him back,” Malia said, sticking her hand into Dylan’s shirt, “not even Scott.”

“That’s not true,” Deaton said, continuing to address Stiles and ignoring the figures in his dream. “Scott is desperate to find you. He’s done everything he can think of to help.”

“No, Malia said, “Stiles took a sword that the Oni stuck in Scott and twisted it. And what’s worse, Stiles liked doing it. Why would anyone want to have a friend like that. Dylan is a much better friend. He can act and cook and he’s great in bed.” Malia started to kiss Dylan again, moving her hands down to unfasten his belt.

“Stiles, stop this immediately,” Deaton said, firmly. “You need to get control of your emotions. These things,” he indicated the people populating Stiles’ dream, “are just manifestations of your insecurities. They’re not real.”

Stiles didn’t respond. He stood in silence next to Malia, watching her unzip Dylan’s pants.

“Complete loser,” the sheriff said. This is my real son here.” He patted Dylan on the shoulder. “He’s someone I can be proud of, not that little hyperactive failure that’s been ruining my life all these years.”

Deaton sighed. He turned to Stiles and slapped him hard across the face, focusing on the act of slapping, visualizing it as completely as possible. He gave it as much force as his mind could muster.

Stiles reeled from the slap, stunned, he rubbed his jaw. “Ouch!” he exclaimed, “what the hell!”

The other figures disappeared, leaving only Stiles and Deaton in the dream.

“Sorry, Stiles,” Deaton said, “but I had to get you out of that cycle of negativity, so I could talk to you.”

Stiles rubbed his face. “I’ve never been slapped in a dream before,” he said, amazed.

“That’s what can happen when someone enters another person’s dream state,” Deaton said. “I need to talk with you.”

“So, talk,” Stiles said, continuing to rub his jaw.

“Apparently, based on your dream, you’re in the same universe that Dylan came from,” Deaton said. “What did you mean that Liam told you that Dylan was in our universe?”

“Oh,” Stiles said, stopping his jaw rubbing and trying to focus, “I’m staying at Dylan’s place and Liam suddenly appeared in the shower stall. So, he’s now in this universe, too. You might want to tell Scott, when you get back.”

“Oh,” Deaton said, stunned, “that means it’s not limited to just the one switch. That’s potentially very dangerous.”

“How do you mean?” Stiles asked, his face clouding with worry.

“People aren’t supposed to swap universes,” Deaton said. “The more people who are swapped, the more each universe is contaminated by matter and energy from the other universe. That cross-contamination could seriously damage both universes.”

“How do you mean?” Stiles asked.

“Right now, it seems likely that these swaps are being done by someone… a sentient entity, at least. But the more changes occur, the more likely that the barriers between universes will begin to break down and stuff will just start spontaneously changing universes,” Deaton was becoming very concerned as he thought this through. The more he thought about it, the more dangerous he believed the situation could become. “You could be walking down the street and suddenly appear in a completely different universe, or worse, half of you could appear in another universe and the other half stay in your own, or maybe even switch to a third universe.”

“Whoa, dude, that sounds particularly deadly… as in death kinda deadly!” Stiles exclaimed, a bit scared by the prospect.

“Yes,” Deaton said, somberly, “it is.”

He noticed that Stiles was thinking about something, like he had suddenly made a connection. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Could… could it be more than just people being swapped between universes?” Stiles asked.

“Sure,” Deaton responded, “it could be anything, objects, people, animals… if it gets to the point of things like buildings and cars changing universes, then we’re all in big trouble. What are you thinking about?”

“A little while before Liam suddenly appeared,” Stiles said, thinking back to when he handed Britt the towel, “I found a copy of Melissa McCall’s hospital schedule on the floor of the same bathroom where Liam appeared, later.”

“Oh, my,” Deaton said, “it’s already started then.”

“I think so,” Stiles replied. Deaton didn’t have to say that this was a very bad turn of events. He could see that Stiles already understood that fact, and he knew that he himself was reflecting the same understanding in his own face.

“What the hell are we going to do to fix this?” Stiles asked.

“We have to find out who is behind it and stop them,” Deaton said. “There has to be someone who made the original switch of you and Dylan. That same person probably also brought Liam over to this universe.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Deaton, “Do you know who his equivalent person is in this universe?”

“Probably a guy named Dylan Sprayberry,” Stiles said. “He plays Liam on this TV show they have.”

“I wonder if he got swapped to our universe,” Deaton said.

“If he did,” Stiles replied, “I hope he didn’t end up like Liam. He appeared in the shower, covered with soap, accidentally smashed the glass shower door and cut himself up pretty badly.”

“Ouch,” Deaton said, “is he okay?”

“Yea,” Stiles said, smiling, “werewolf healing.”

“Good,” Deaton said, “I’ll ask Scott to check on Dylan Sprayberry and see if he appeared at Liam’s house.”

“That’s good,” Stiles said.

“Now about you,” Deaton said. “You need to understand that everyone back in our universe is very concerned about you. We care about you and we want to get you back to our universe.”

“I know that,” Stiles said, sheepishly.

“Then you know that you don’t need to have dreams like you were having when I showed up,” Deaton said.

“I know,” Stiles said, ducking his head, “I just have these insecurities and anxieties. My conscious mind knows that, it’s just that my sub-conscious needs to work things out.”

“Try to remember what I said, okay?” Deaton responded, in what he hoped was a firm but kind voice.

“Okay,” Stiles replied.

“Now, are you alright? You said you’re staying at Dylan’s place? Do you have enough money? Are you safe?” Deaton peppered Stiles with questions.

“I’m fine,” Stiles replied. The people on this television show are taking care of me. They’ve hired me to play myself on the show until we can get Dylan and myself swapped back.”

“Really?” Deaton said, surprised. He’d never suspected Stiles of being interested in acting.

“Yea,” Stiles said, “and their paying me a boat load of money to do it. I guess I’m set, as long as I’m in this universe, anyway.”

“That’s great news,” Deaton said. “Scott, Malia, and your father will be relieved to hear that.”

“Please tell them I love them and want to get back home as soon as I can,” Stiles said. He added, “Any ideas how we can all get back home?”

“We’re working on it,” Deaton said. “The energy used to move you and Dylan between universes has a violet color to it, which means that it’s likely Fay in nature.”

“Fay,” Stiles said, amazed, “you mean like Fairies?”

“Yes,” Deaton replied, “but not like the little butterfly-winged creatures of Victorian myth and Disney fantasy movies.”

“I know that,” Stiles replied, sounding a bit irked at Deaton’s comment, “they’re like these really powerful creatures that can kick butt when it suits them. But why would they want to play musical universes with Dylan and me?”

“That’s a good question,” Deaton said. “I need to figure out how to contact them and ask them.”

“When you do, please pay me another visit and let me know,” Stiles said.

“I will,” Deaton responded, “but I’m afraid that for now I must go. I feel myself being pulled back to my own universe.”

“Remember, tell my dad and Malia that I love them, and tell Scott that I miss him,” Stiles said.

“I will,” Deaton said, and then he was gone, moving up and out of Stiles’ dream and back toward the dark room and it’s version of the nemeton. As he passed back through the portal and began the rollercoaster ride back to his own universe, he felt a pair of presences fall in beside him. Before Deaton could react, they seized him and dragged him forcibly off his course and out through what was apparently another portal. He landed with a thud in what appeared to be some kind of Fay palace, dazed and shaking. Beside him were the two presences he had sensed. They now appeared as tall, beings with pointed ears and flashing eyes. They carried spears. Before him was a third figure, a larger, more mature and certainly more magnificent version of the other two. He had a short, thick beard and a circlet of silver around his head.

“Greetings, mortal,” this third being said, “I am Oberon, king of the Fay, and to use the parlance of your kind, we need to talk.”


	12. Monster:  Part 2

“Oh, God, that’s disgusting,” Deputy Kevin Albright said, covering his nose.

“Yep,” Jack Carlton replied, doing the same. They had been tracking the creature for about half an hour and this was the fourth raccoon they had come across, at least as far as they could tell. There had been a couple of animal bodies that had been unidentifiable, so maybe there were more. All of them had been torn to pieces and partially eaten. In addition, there were 12 squirrels, two rabbits, and a small deer. Pieces of these bodies lined the route taken by the creature.

“It’s not exactly hard to follow,” Albright said, picking up a raccoon leg and tossing it aside.

“Definitely,” Carlton said, “but it’s moving so fast that it’s hard to keep up with, even if it’s movements are obvious.”

They heard a sound ahead of them. Heading toward it, hoping that they had finally caught up with the creature, they were surprised when they came face-to-face with a fourteen-year-old boy.

“What the hell,” Carlton said, stopping himself as he was about to pounce on the kid.

“Whoa, guys,” the kid said, throwing up both hands in a gesture of stop. He did not seem to be overly panicked by the cops’ werewolf state, “are you two chasing that thing that’s running through the forest eating bunnies and stuff?”

“Yea,” Carlton said, noting the scent of werewolf coming from the kid, “I take it that you saw it?”

“Hell yea,” the kid replied, “scared the shit out of me. It came running toward me and I thought it was going to eat me, but it just sniffed me and then went after Thumper’s mom.”

“You mean that it attacked a rabbit instead of you?” Albright asked.

“Yep,” the kid replied, “I guess I didn’t smell all that great or something, but it sure liked rabbit. Caught one and tore it to shreds while I watched. Ate most of it, bones and all.”

The kid considered the two cops. “So,” he said, “it’s true what they’re saying, then.”

“What?” Carlton asked, eyeing the boy.

“They say that the sheriff recruited werewolves to be deputies, cause of all the shit that’s been going down around here. I didn’t believe them, but seeing you two, I guess they were right.”

Carlton rolled his eyes. “The sheriff wants to keep everyone safe,” he said. “That goes for supernaturals as well as regular people. Now, do you care to explain what you’re doing out in the woods late at night like this?”

The kid scuffed his feet, looking down, uncomfortably. “I… uh… I was hoping to get a glimpse of the alpha,” he said. “They say he runs through here a lot at night.”

“Don’t believe everything they say,” Carlton replied. “Scott McCall has a lot better things to do than run around in the woods at night.”

“You know him?” the kid said, in awe.

“He’s best friends with the sheriff’s son,” Albright said, noncommittally. The kid did not need to know that they had never actually met McCall and had only set eyes on him once. He didn’t want to give away any advantage they had in this encounter… the fact that the kid, along with most other supernaturals in Beacon Hills, and increasingly in the rest of the world, held the alpha in almost mystical awe was a major advantage only if people thought they actually knew the alpha.

“Look,” Carlton said, “there are a lot of weird things going on right now, so it’s best if you get back home, okay?

“Okay,” the kid said. He started to leave, then stopped and asked, “Don’t suppose you know where he does hang out?”

Carlton sighed, “The high school.” It was no secret that McCall was a senior at Beacon Hills High.

“His mom is a nurse at the hospital,” Albright said, helpfully. Carlton gave him a “why the hell did you tell him that” sort of look.

“Really?” the kid replied, perking up, “my mom’s an orderly there. Thanks!” Smiling, he raced off before Carlton and Albright could say anything else.

“Why did you tell him that?” Carlton asked, frustrated. “Now he’s going to hang out at the hospital and make a nuisance of himself.”

“Well,” Albright said, sheepishly, “he just seemed so disappointed. I wanted to give him something, you know.”

Carlton sighed. “Well, I just hope we don’t have the alpha show up at the sheriff’s office and demand to know why his mom is being harassed by a fourteen-year-old werewolf.”

Albright went pale. “You don’t think that would happen, do you?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Shut up and get back to tracking this thing,” Carlton replied.

=== ===

“What happened to you?” Melissa McCall asked the young deputy as he was being wheeled into the emergency room.

“Uh… got bit by a bear,” Reed replied.

Melissa thought there was something wrong with the way he answered, but there wasn’t time to find out right now. “Put him in trauma room four,” she told the EMTs, before heading to trauma room one to deal with a gunshot victim who had just come in.

Once she had finished with the gunshot guy, who had put a bullet through his own foot while cleaning his revolver, she headed to trauma room four. Walking in and washing her hands, she said, “Let me take a look at that bite.”

“Sure,” the officer said, holding out his injured arm. Lifting the bandage, Melissa took one look at the wound and knew he was lying. It wasn’t nearly big enough to be a bear bite. Nor did it look like a werewolf bit. What was he lying about.

“That’s an interesting bite,” she said, “but, I don’t believe it’s a bear bite. It’s way too small to be from a bear and there aren’t any claw marks on you, which you’d expect from a bear attack, so what was it really?”

“Uh… I… I don’t think I can tell you,” he replied, clearly thrown off by her knowledge, “police business and all.”

“You’re not a SCAPE officer,” she said, “If you were, you’d know you could trust me.”

“How do you know about that?’ he asked, surprised.

“My son is Scott McCall,” she said, noting with satisfaction that his eyes widened at the mention of Scott’s name. He was at least in on the secret, if not a supernatural himself.

“Oh,” he said, “Carlton told me about him. “He’s the alpha, right?” He said this last in a whisper, even though no one else was in the room.”

“That’s right,” Melissa said, “and I need to know what’s going on, in case he needs to be told.”

Officer Reeves proceeded to tell her the entire story of how he had been bitten and the fact that a creature of some sort was running around Beacon Hills, eating whatever it came across.

=== ===

Carlton and Albright were now well into town. The other SCAPE officers were ahead of them patrolling the streets and avenues, trying to find the creature. So far, the thing, whatever it was, had consumed numerous rabbits, squirrels, and raccoons; along with a few dogs and cats. In every case, it had ripped the animals to shreds, eaten parts of them and strewn the remaining pieces about the kill site.

“How could something that is killing this many animals stay constantly ahead of us,” Albright said in frustration. “You’d think we’d be able to catch up with it.”

“Definitely,” Carlton said, catching the scent of the beast where it left the scene of its latest kill. He headed in that direction, with Albright on his heels. They were moving through a business district and it was hard to get a line of site on where the thing was going.

“Wait here,” Carlton directed, “I’m going to climb that building and try to get an idea of where this thing is headed.” He indicated a four-story modern-style office building on the corner that was closest to them.

Albright waited as Carlton scaled the brick and steel structure. It was times like this when werewolf claws were particularly useful for getting up the sides of buildings that human’s wouldn’t have a hope of climbing. Standing atop the structure, he visualized a mental line along the path the creature had followed. If he extended it backward, it went in an almost straight path back through the outskirts of town to Mrs. Coopers’ house and from there into Beacon Preserve. On the other hand, if he extended it forward it went farther into town, skirting town center, before heading back out of town toward the west-southwest. He was considering this, when something caught his eye. It was the flashing red of an ambulance. Obviously headed for Beacon Hills Hospital, at first, he didn’t pay it much attention, then he noticed the hospital’s position relative to their own. Looking down at Albright, he exclaimed, “Jesus, Kevin, it’s headed straight for the hospital!” To himself, he added, straight for Reeves. He felt a hollowness in the pit of his stomach.

=== ===

Melissa assisted as doctor Vandenburg cleaned and stitched officer Reeves’ wound. “So, you were attacked by a bear,” Vandenburg said, making conversation while he worked.

“Yes sir,” Reeves replied, eyeing Melissa, who gave him a small shake of her head to indicate that he shouldn’t tell the doctor what actually happened.

“Awfully small bite for a bear,” Vandenburg continued.

“Well, it was an awfully small bear,” Reeves responded, smiling at Melissa. It was everything she could do to keep from snorting and cracking up with laughter.

“Touché, officer,” Vandenburg replied.

“Sorry doc, but there’s really not a lot to tell,” Reeves said. “This young bear was eating the leftovers out of a woman’s trash can and I got too close and it decided to take a chomp out of me.”

“Humph,” Vandenburg said.

Melissa gave him a thumbs up, from behind the doctor’s back. That was professional level lying, which was something that people who knew about the supernatural in this town learned to do as easily as breath. Melissa suddenly realized that she very much liked officer Reeves. He seemed like a nice young man and he was certainly very handsome. His strong jaw line and taught muscles were physically appealing, as was his short, neatly trimmed dark brown hair. His wit definitely had its appeal as well. He couldn’t have kept up with Vandenburg if his mind weren’t top-notch. It was, however, his striking blue eyes that were the most appealing thing about him. If she were 20 years younger, she might consider trying to wrangle a date out of him. Too bad she wasn’t.

“There,” Vandenburg said, tying off the suture, “excellent work, even if I do say so myself.”

“Thanks doc,” Reeves said, “can I go home now?”

“Afraid not,” Vandenburg said, shaking his head, “deputy Parrish wanted you held overnight for observation, and I, as your doctor, agree. We need to make sure that wound doesn’t get infected. Also, we have to worry about the off chance that the bear had rabies. There are deputies out hunting it right now. When they find it, we’ll be able to test it and see if we need to put you on the rabies vaccine.”

“Oh,” Reeves said, giving Melissa a look like, yea, that’s going to happen.

“You’ll be fine,” Vandenburg said, patting him on the shoulder as he walked past. “Melissa will finish up here and get you admitted to a room.” With that, he walked out, headed for his next patient.

Melissa realized that what Parrish, and likely the sheriff too, really wanted to do by keeping officer Reeves in the hospital overnight was to make sure that he didn’t turn into whatever it was that attacked him. To Reeves, she said, “Well, just relax and I’ll make the arrangements to get you a room.”

Twenty minutes and four phone calls later, and she was still trying to get a room out of admissions. Hospital bureaucracy was a level of hell all its own. Extracting a promise from the admissions woman to call her as soon as Reeves’ room was available, she headed back to the trauma room where her patient was waiting. She was about half way there when a woman came running past her from behind, nearly knocking her over.

“Hey, watch out,” Melissa shouted.

“Run!” the woman shouted back, “it’s chasing me!”

Melissa turned just in time to see a small, brown-furred humanoid creature come round the corner she had just passed. It was traveling fast enough that it couldn’t quite make the curve and slid into the opposing wall, it’s clawed feet and hands making scratching sounds on the tile flooring as it tried to stop.

Melissa did not hesitate for a second. In a swift move, she turned on her heels and sprinted away from the creature as fast as she could. She heard it bellow in anger followed a second later by the sound of its claws on the flooring as it took off after her. Seconds after that, she dashed into Reeves’ room, slamming and locking the door behind her. Turning to Reeves, she said, “Help me block this door. The thing that attacked you just chased me down the hall. Outside, she heard screams and shrieks, as mayhem ensued in the creature’s wake.

After baring the door with the bed and some other equipment they found scattered around the room, Melissa pulled out her cell phone and called Martha at the sheriff’s office. After that, she made a second call… this one to Scott.


	13. Stiles in the the Role of Stiles

It was six-thirty in the morning and Stiles had been sitting in the makeup chair for 15 minutes. Posey was next to him, giving him the low-down on the scenes they were filming today. “The important thing is just to relax and be natural,” Posey said, yawning. “If you tense up, then your delivery becomes really strained and you start to overact, so just stay cool and you’ll be okay.”

“Yea, I can definitely understand that,” Stiles replied, returning the yawn. “Jeez, how do you guys do this? Early mornings are definitely not my time of day.”

“I’d like to say that you get used to it,” Posey said, with a smile, “but that never happens. I guess it’s better to say that you learn how to force yourself to come in and work at all kinds of weird hours. It bothers you, sure, but you can still function and get your work done.”

Just as Stiles stifled another yawn, Jeff walked in. “I heard you wanted to see me?” he said, approaching Stiles.

“Hi Jeff,” Stiles said. “Yea, I wanted to tell you and Posey that I had a visit from Deaton last night.” Stiles then told them about how Deaton had appeared to him in a dream, detailing the whole lucid dread/astral projection thing, along with what they had discussed.

“Wow,” Posey said, when Stiles had finished, “he thinks fairies are behind it all?”

“Yea,” Stiles said, “but remember, these aren’t like ‘Disneyland’ fairies.

“Yea,” Posey said, smiling, “I read something about them. They’re supposedly really kick-ass and all… not the kind of guys you want to meet in a dark alley.”

“The only question I have,” Jeff said, in a carefully measured tone, “is whether you believe this was a real visitation as opposed to a normal dream that you’re misinterpreting.”

“Definitely a real visitation,” Stiles replied without hesitation. “It was just so different from a normal dream. You’d have to have been there to see the difference, but trust me, it’s obvious when you see it for real and all.”

“I believe you,” Jeff said, reassuringly. “I just needed to make sure. So, now I guess we just have to wait to see what Deaton and the others come up with. I can’t say that I’ve ever run into any fairies. This world is not exactly teeming with supernatural creatures… outside of Hollywood special effects, of course.”

“You’re makeup is done, Dylan… uh… Stiles,” the makeup woman corrected, looking nervous.

“That’s okay,” Lori, Stiles said, smiling at her, “just call me Dylan, okay? That’ll make it easier for everyone.”

“Okay,” she said, still looking a little nervous, “have a great day on set.”

“Thanks!” Stiles replied, giving her a careful hug, so as not to mess up his makeup.

“Well, let’s get this going,” Stiles said to Jeff and Posey.

“Okay,” Jeff said, leading the way out of the makeup trailer and toward the set.

=== ===

The first scene they shot was the one in the loft that his sudden appearance on set the previous day had wrecked. All things considered, it went pretty well. It was interesting to see just how filming worked. There were a whole variety of angles that had to be filmed, some with close-ups, some without. Leonard, the director, wanted Stiles to use several different emotions during the various takes. In one take he was to be upbeat and happy at Parrish’s suggestion of using kanima venom, while in another he was to be dubious about the whole venture. The words he spoke were the same, it was just the different emotions and the emphasis he placed on different parts of the sentences that varied and conveyed the differing meanings that the director wanted. It was all intended to give the people in the editing room the maximum number of possibilities later, when they were putting together the final version.

On the other hand, his interactions with the cast and crew, other than Jeff and Posey, were very strained. To say that things were awkward was a vast understatement. People stared at him, apparently not sure if he really was Stiles or just Dylan gone crazy. Either way, they treated him like a delicate and expensive piece of merchandize, not to be interacted with unless they absolutely had to and then handled only with kid gloves.

There was also a lot of confusion as to whether he should be called Stiles or Dylan. Stiles ended that discussion by announcing that he should be called Dylan, except when referring to the character of Stiles.

As for being handled with kid gloves, Stiles spent most of the morning getting past that by using a combination of charm and straight-forward talk. He took every opportunity to act the part of Dylan, joking and having fun with people. As far as Stiles could tell from the various videos he’d seen, Dylan was a natural at putting people at ease with goof-ball jokes and self-deprecating humor. Stiles tried to emulate him, with great success. In addition, he took people aside and told them how much he valued what they did and that he hoped that they wouldn’t hold yesterday’s events against him. It all worked beautifully and by lunch the environment was much more relaxed.

When production broke for lunch, Posey and Stiles got in line with the rest of the cast. “Smells great,” Stiles said to Posey, who was just behind him.

“Yea,” Posey said, smiling, “the catering here is great. They really feed us well.”

“Glad to hear that,” Stiles said, returning the smile. He looked past Posey to see Jeff and Liam joining them.

“Yo, Liam,” Stiles said, “how you doing?”

“Fine,” Liam said, smiling, “Jeff was just showing me everything. I’m not sure how good an actor I’ll be, but I’m going to try. I mean… what else am I going to do while I’m stuck here, you know?”

“Yep,” Stiles replied, nodding, “I’m right there with ya bro.”

“You’ll do fine, dude,” Posey said, reaching back and giving Liam a one-handed hug.”

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Jeff said, “but he doesn’t believe me.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “I’ve never acted before,” he said. “Not even in school plays. I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it or not.”

“You have your first scene this afternoon with Stiles and me,” Posey said, “so we’ll get together right after lunch and help you go over everything. You’ll be plenty prepared by the time we shoot, right Dyl?”

“Right, T-Pose,” Stiles replied and put up a closed hand for a fist bump, like he’d seen Dylan and Posey do on one of the YouTube videos. Posey responded with his own fist and Jeff looked very impressed at their interaction, giving Stiles a thumbs up. “Great work at being Dylan,” he said, smiling. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you really were him.”

“Thanks,” Stiles responded with pride. To Liam, he said, “We got your back, bro, so don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Liam replied, looking amused.

Stiles gave Liam a quizzical look.

“You just seem so different than when we’re home… you know… in our own universe,” Liam said, suppressing a laugh.

“That’s because I’m acting,” Stiles said, with a small laugh of his own. “I’m Stiles in the joint roles of Dylan O’Brien and Stiles Stilinski.”

The four of them laughed at that and settled in to eat.

A few minutes later, Melissa Ponzio plopped down in a chair next to Jeff, a worried look on her face.

“What’s up,” Jeff said, returning the look.

“I can’t find my script,” she said, shaking her head. “I think it may have been stolen.”

“Stolen?” Jeff asked, his expression darkening even more. “Why do you think that? Maybe you just misplaced it.”

“No,” Melissa said, somberly, “I’ve never lost a script in my life, and I know exactly where I left this one. I put it on my chair on set, along with a snickers bar and went to the restroom. When I came back, the script and half the snickers bar were gone.”

“Half the snickers bar?” Stiles said, his attention suddenly engaged.

“Yes,” Melissa said, making a face, “I mean, who the hell stills half a candy bar.

Stiles definitely had an idea about what happened, but it didn’t involve theft.

“Melissa,” he said excitedly, “did it look like someone had taken a bite out of the candy bar, broke it in half, or cut it?”

“Cut it,” she said, eyeing him, “very smooth, you know? Why do you ask?”

“Because, I think that your script and the candy bar both may have been sucked out of this universe and into mine.” He proceeded to explain about finding Melissa McCall’s work schedule in Dylan’s master bathroom the night before and what Deaton had said about it being brought to this universe because the fabric of time and space was beginning to be damaged.”

“Oh,” Melissa said, wide-eyed, “that’s scary.”

“No shit,” Posey said, frowning.

The five of them looked at one another, somberly. The changed reality that Stiles and Liam had faced the day before was now something prying its way into the minds of the others. Something had changed in each of their perceptions about the universe they lived in and of the other universes that existed somewhere “out there,” beyond their site. Their universe was no longer quite the safe, secure place it had been. It was now substantially more dangerous, where they and their things could be picked up and plopped down at the capricious whim of some fairy or (worse) some damaged universe.


	14. Monster:  Part 3

The SCAPE radio crackled just as Carlton had climbed down from the roof of the building where he had been surveying the path of the creature. “All SCAPE officers,” Martha said, in her southern drawl, “the 12-85 has been sighted in the Beacon Hills Hospital emergency ward. All units proceed there immediately.”

“Oh shit,” Carlton said to Albright, their eyes going wide as they stared at one another, “that thing is already at the hospital!” The two of them took off at full speed. In werewolf form, they moved on all fours, in what was often called loping. This allowed them to move faster than running on two legs. Carlton just hoped they would be in time to save Reeves and whoever else was there.

=== ===

Melissa McCall listened at the door as the sounds of mayhem resounded in the corridor beyond.

“I’m a cop,” Reeves said, listening beside her, “I need to go out there and try to stop that thing.”

“Are you crazy?” Melissa asked, staring at him. “You’re naked except for that flimsy hospital gown, and hospital security kept your gun to give to Parrish, so you have no weapon. If you go out there, you’re just going to get yourself killed.”

Reeves looked down, an angry expression crossing his face. Melissa understood. Having been married to a cop, she knew a little of how they thought. They were supposed to protect people. It was hard for them to watch bad things happen to people and not be able to do something about it.

She placed a motherly hand on his shoulder and said, “You know, there are some times when you can’t help… when it will just make things worse. If you go out there, you’ll die, along with everyone else. You won’t be able to stop it and you’ll just throw your life away trying. Scott’s coming, wait for him to get here, and maybe then you can join him and make a difference.”

It looked to Melissa like Reeves was about to say something, but then, to both of their amazement, there was a knock at the door.

“Mrs. McCall,” a voice said, “are you in there?” It was a boy’s voice… a teenager maybe. The two adults looked at each other, wide-eyed, then tore down the makeshift barricade and flung open the door.

=== ===

Carlton and Albright hurtled into the parking lot of Beacon Hills hospital at full speed. All around them people were fleeing the scene, running, hobbling, even rolling in wheelchairs, trying to get away from the thing inside. Albright grabbed one woman as she ran past and asked, “Did you see where the creature went?” The woman took one look at him, screamed, and fainted.

“You’re still shifted,” Carlton said it him.

“Oh, shit,” Albright replied. He shifted back to human, picked up the woman and carried her to the side of the building, where he hid her in some shrubbery. “maybe she’ll be okay there until she wakes up,” he said, hopefully.

Carlton grabbed the SCAPE radio from his pocket. “Dispatch, this is unit 91. Unit 37 and I are at the entrance to the emergency room. Can you give us a status for the other SCAPE units, over.”

“Twelve-four,” Martha replied. Units 62 and 12 have just enter the front entrance of the hospital. They will be proceeding to the emergency ward from there, to block the creature escaping via that route.”

“Twelve-four,” Carlton replied, “we are entering the emergency department now.” He motioned for Albright to follow him.

“Twelve-four,” Martha replied, then she added, “be careful, Jack.”

“Will do, Martha,” Carlton responded.

“Should we pull our guns?” Albright asked, looking down at Carlton’s holstered sidearm.

“Bullets don’t do any good against this thing,” Carlton replied. “We’ll use these.” He flicked his hands and werewolf claws snapped out like ten lethal switchblades. Albright did the same.

Together, the two officers moved cautiously toward the door.

=== ===

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Melissa asked the boy who stood before them. He appeared to be about 14 years old. short, curly black hair topped his head, and his mocha-colored skin was smooth and clear.

“I’m Jason,” the boy said, smiling at her. “The cops told me where you were.”

“The cops,” Reeves said, staring at him.

“Yea,” he said, “I ran into two cops in the woods. They were chasing that thing and they told me where I could find Mrs. McCall. I wasn’t going to bother you tonight, but then that thing showed up and started eating people, so I thought you could use a wolf… you know… in case it decided to turn you into dinner or something.”

“A wolf?” Melissa asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Yea,” he replied, making his eyes glow yellow. Reeves took a step back.

“Oh,” Melissa said, not sure that a fourteen-year-old werewolf would be a match for the creature, but desperate enough to accept any help available.

“Okay,” she said, “let’s get the door bared… oh, shit….” The creature had appeared suddenly in the hallway near the door, chewing on an arm that it apparently had ripped off of one of its victims.

Seeing the three people in the room, it dropped the arm, howled, and lunged toward them.

“Get back!” Jason shouted, shoving Melissa farther into the room, as he shifted and turned to face the creature.

=== ===

Carlton and Albright eased through the entrance and into the emergency ward. All around them was carnage. The creature had ripped arms from sockets, raked deep gashes across torsos, and bitten off chunks of flesh. Amazingly, few people appeared to be dead, though the number of injured was high. They eased down the hallway, careful to check every room as they went. The last thing they wanted was to miss the creature and allow it to escape, or worse, get a sneak attack from behind.

The turned a corner and started down the next section of hallway. Ahead of them and to the right was the doorway to one of the trauma rooms. The number four was marked just to the right of it. The door was open and there were sounds of a struggle coming from inside.

Carlton could hear snarling from at least two people inside along with a gibbering sound that he knew to be the creature. There were also a couple of people shouting. Carlton recognized Reeve’s voice as one of the people shouting. Oh, God, Carlton thought, that thing is in there with him.

Carlton suddenly realized that he had to get to Reeves. He had to do everything he could to save him, because he was in love with him. The realization dawned on him in that moment, as he heard the creature in the same room as Reeves. It wasn’t just about the sex. It wasn’t just about having someone to talk with and relate with… someone who understood him as a cop and as a person. It was about the connection they had that had been building for months now, ever since they first met. He would be devastated if anything happened to Reeves.

At that moment, Trent and Sanchez came running through the door at the opposite end of the hallway, coming from the main part of the hospital. Carlton pointed toward the open door, even as reason left him and he rushed forward toward the room… toward Reeves.

As all four officers moved toward the doorway, there was a sudden scream, followed by more struggling, and then a werewolf roared, but it wasn’t just an ordinary roar. This was the roar of an immensely powerful alpha. Judging by their reactions, none of the officers in that hallway had ever heard anything like it before. They all cringed at the sound, fear rushing through them in response to anything that powerful being so close.

“Holy shit!” Sanchez mouthed, her eyes going wide. Trent looked like he was going to shit himself, and Albright cowered back, instinctively retreating from the danger. Even Carlton put his hands up in front of his face, to ward off any attack.

As soon as the roar ceased, the creature flew through the doorway at great speed. It crashed into the wall opposite the door, smashing the drywall and slamming into the steel I-beams behind it. Bouncing off of an I-beam, it lay in a quivering mass on the hallway floor, moaning.

The four officers stared at the stunned creature for a long moment, before looking up to see Scott McCall standing in the doorway fully shifted, with red eyes glowing. Seeing them, he said, “Well, don’t just stand there, help me catch this thing.”

The officers obeyed immediately. The alpha had spoken and they needed to obey him.


	15. No CGI Required

“Okay, Liam, You ready to film this?” Stiles said, patting Liam on the back.

“I think so,” Liam replied, total lack of confidence in his voice.

“Whoa, dude,” Stiles said, putting hands on both of Liam’s shoulders and staring into the kid’s face, “you gotta own this. You take control of your character… be your character… and you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll try,” Liam replied.

“Like Yoda, said,” Stiles responded, “do or do not. There is no try.”

Liam looked at him with a blank stare.

“Still haven’t seen the Star Wars movies, have you,” Stiles said, exasperated.

“No,” Liam responded. He was about to say something else, when an assistant director stuck his head into the office where they were sitting, and said, “Hey, both Dylans, we need you on set… now!”

“Okay, we’re coming,” Stiles said. Turning to Liam, he added in a low tone, “Remember, you’re Dylan Sprayberry, sometimes called ‘little Dyl,’ and I’m Dylan O’Brien, sometimes called ‘big Dyl.’”

“Got it,” Liam replied.

 === ===

An hour later, and the scene was not going well. The new actor, Cody Christian, who played Theo, was doing great, as was Stiles, but Liam was not a born actor. His delivery was stuffy, his movements were stiff, and he was just not doing nearly as well as his counterpart, Dylan Sprayberry, would have done.

“What the hell is wrong with Sprayberry today?” Leonard asked, as Jeff took Liam aside to talk with him after one particularly painful take.

“The problem,” Posey replied, “is that he’s not really Sprayberry, he’s Liam, and Liam can’t act.

Leonard rolled his eyes and walked away.

“He still doesn’t believe any of this, does he?” Stiles asked Posey.

“No,” Posey replied, “he’s convinced that we’re using this to cover up something. Until Liam showed up, he was convinced that you (in other words, Dylan) had lost your mind and that we were playing along to get you to finish filming the season. Now, he doesn’t know what’s going on.” Posey chuckled.

Stiles smiled. To Liam, who had just returned from his chat with Jeff and who looked completely despondent, he said, “just try to relax and don’t rush the scene. I think your big problem is that your trying to rush through it. So relax, slow down, and let it play out in its own time. Take some long, slow breaths and see if that helps. I think you’ll find that you’re much more natural if you just slow your roll on it, okay?”

“Okay,” Liam said. He tried to take some breaths, but they were way too fast. Stiles thought that he was about to hyperventilate. Again, he placed his hands on Liam’s shoulders and looked him directly in the eyes. He said in a soothing voice, “Just relax… slow your breathing… take nice long breaths.” Stiles took a few breaths to show Liam what he meant, and the kid slowly matched his own breathing to Stiles’. When Liam seemed nice and calm, Stiles smiled, nodded at him, and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Let’s try a new take,” Jeff said, calling for everyone’s attention. “We’re going to start the scene from the beginning and run it all the way through, but regardless of what happens, let’s just let it go to the end, okay?”

“Okay,” Leonard said, with a sigh. An assistant director grabbed the clapboard, held it up to the camera and said, “Teen Wolf, episode 7, scene 12, take 19.” The clapper snapped shut, Leonard called “action” and they were off. The scene called for a face-off between Stiles and Liam on the one hand and Cody Christian’s Theo on the other. There would be some banter back and forth, with a few insults flying, and then Liam would lose it and wolf out.

To Stiles’ amazement, the scene went like clockwork. His talk with Liam must have done the trick to get the guy to calm down. He was going through his lines perfectly, and actually giving a descent performance. The three were playing off one another very well. Stiles saw Posey standing beside Leonard, smiling. Within the scene, he could feel the tension building. It was going great. Then, they hit the pivotal moment and Liam shifted, ready for the second part of the scene, where he and Theo would almost get into a fight, before Stiles came between them and broke it up. That never had a chance to happen, however, because when Liam shifted into werewolf form, the entire set dissolved into pandemonium.

“Holy shit!” Cody screamed, his eye’s widening, “he’s really a fucking werewolf.” Cody stumbled backward, trying to get away from this guy who had suddenly grown fangs and claws. Catching his foot on a piece of set furniture he fell backward onto the floor, before scrambling to his feet and running to the other side of the set. He was trembling. All around them, people were swearing, and trying to get away from Liam. One of the boom operators dropped the mic pole he was holding and ran from the room. The first assistant director, who was the short dark-haired woman who had been with Leonard the day before, was rooted to where she was standing, but she was screaming at the top of her lungs and flailing her arms. The camera guy was still filming, but shouting “holy fuck” over and over. Leonard was standing beside the camera, saying, “It’s real… it’s real… he’s real… really a werewolf. Oh… my… God!”

Stiles and Liam stood in the middle of the maelstrom, as people freaked out around them. “Stay wolfed out for a couple of minutes,” Stiles whispered to Liam. “I want them to get a good look, so they know that we’re not kidding… that this isn’t fake.”

“Okay,” Liam said sounding self-conscious.

Finally, with everyone losing it and Leonard seemingly unable to take command of the situation, Jeff shouted “Cut!” and called for order on the set. It took a long time for him to get everyone calmed down. Before that finally happened, Stiles whispered to Liam, “Okay, thanks, you can change back now. I think we’ve made our point.”

“What point is that,” Liam replied, his eyes fading back to normal, as his claws withdrew into his fingers.

“That we are real and not to be messed with,” Stiles replied, winking at Liam. “Thanks again, dude. Fangs and claws make that point a lot better than some guy with a baseball bat.”

When Jeff finally got order restored, he raised his voice so that everyone could hear, and shouted, “Remember, you have all signed non-disclosure agreements. You are not to say a word of this to anyone outside of the cast and crew."

“Who the hell would believe us anyway?” one stagehand shouted back. “They’d lock us up in the loony bin.”

Jeff, apparently realizing that it would take a little time for people’s emotions to calm enough to resume work, instructed everyone to take a 10 minute break.

People, who had gathered in little knots around the set, talking to one another and frequently casting frightened glances Liam’s way, bolted off the set like they had been burned with fire.

“I think they’re scared of me,” Liam said, sadly.

“They’ll get over it,” Stiles replied. “They’ll see what a great guy you are and they’ll be fine with you. Don’t worry.

Liam nodded, but Stiles could tell he did not believe it, not for one minute, and Stiles wasn’t sure he believed it either.

One of the writers, an African-American woman named Angela, who had watched the scene, walked over to Liam smiled at him, and said, quite calmly, “That was a really good take, and the whole shifting thing was really convincing too.”

“Thanks,” Liam said, smiling back.

She seemed very calm to Stiles, compared to the other people on the set. “Why are you so chill with all of this?” Stiles asked her.

She arched an eyebrow at him and said, “Because I believed Jeff when he told me what was going on… because I have an open mind… because this is a whole lot less weird than some of the shit we’ve thought up for the show and just never put in… and because I’m just a chill, take it as it comes kind of gal.”

Stiles nodded, impressed.

Turning to Jeff she asked, “What did his shift look like on film?”

“That’s a good question,” Jeff replied, gesturing for an assistant to bring him his tablet PC. A few moments later, he and Angela were watching the scene play back on the tablet, with Stiles and Liam looking over their shoulders.

“Perfect,” Angela said, when the scene had finished, “his transition was better than anything CGI could produce.”

“Yea,” Jeff said, sounding very impressed.

“How do you guys usually do it?” Liam asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“CGI and lots of makeup,” Angela said, “and it’s way expensive.” Turning to Jeff, she said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yea, Jeff said, smiling at her, “we have someone who can transition to a werewolf whenever we want him to and we don’t have to pay for CGI.”

“Wow, does CGI really cost that much just to show an actor transitioning to a werewolf?” Stiles asked.

“Oh yea,” Angela said, rubbing her thumb and fingers together in a gesture to indicate lots of money, “way pricy.” To Jeff, she added, “I’m going back to the writing room and see where we can add Liam shifting.”

“Sounds good,” Jeff said, “I need to get things sorted out here, and then I’ll join you.”

Still smiling, Angela headed for the writer’s room. Meanwhile, the cast and crew were returning from their ten minute break, with a lot of new faces added. Apparently, word about Liam had spread fast and everyone and their brother was showing up to see the werewolf in the flesh.

Jeff called for everyone to gather around, so he could address them all. He gave them his standard spiel about how they shouldn’t say anything about this outside the set and how no one would believe them anyway. He also told them how everyone in both universes was trying to find a way to get the two Dylans back to this universe and return Stiles and Liam to where they belonged.

As he continued to talk, Melissa Ponzio and Arden Cho edged up to Stiles and Liam. “Is it true that your friend turned into a werewolf on set?” Melissa asked Stiles.

“Yep,” Stiles whispered back, smiling, “right in the middle of a scene, when he was supposed to shift, he did, for real. I thought Cody was going to shit his pants.” Stiles looked over to the other side of the set, where Cody was keeping a careful distance from Liam.

Stiles turned back to Melissa and Arden, and noticed that there was something wrong with the soda can that Arden was holding. “What happened to your can?” he asked.

“The tab snapped off before I could get it opened,” she said , frustrated. “I have a cup of ice and I can’t get the stupid can to open. Know anybody with a screwdriver or something?”

“Hand it to me,” Liam said. She handed him the can, a questioning look on her face. He flicked a forefinger and one long werewolf claw extended neatly from it. He punched two holes in the top of the can… one to pour soda through and the other to let air in, then handed it back to her.

Arden stared at it. “Thanks,” she said in a distant voice.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, with a smile.

It was then that Stiles noticed the stares of everyone around them. “What?” he said, staring back at them, “werewolves can be helpful, too.”

“Yea,” Arden agreed, pouring her orange soda into the cup of ice, and smiling broadly at Liam, who smiled back.

Jeff finished his speech and the cast and crew returned to filming, with everyone gradually becoming at ease with having a real werewolf on the set. Stiles was proud of Liam, who, having finally gotten over his jitters, gave consistently good performances. He wasn’t going to win an Oscar, but neither was he going to be up for any Razzie awards either.

By mid-afternoon, the whole incident was in the past, and production was in full swing. There was however, one additional benefit from the whole incident. As evening arrived on the set, bringing long shadows and a change in filming, as outdoor evening scenes replaced indoor ones, a stage hand sheepishly approached Stiles.

“There’s something I think you outta know,” he said in a low voice.

“What’s that?” Stiles asked.

“A few days ago, I found something in one of the storerooms,” he said, nervously. “I thought I should say something, but it was so weird that I figured people would say I was crazy or something. But, after this….” His voice trailed off, as he gestured at Liam.

“What was it?” Stiles asked.

“I think I should show you,” the guy replied.

Stiles and Liam followed him to a storeroom buried deep in the warehouse that was Teen Wolf HQ. He pulled out a big set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. A strange violet glow came from the room.

“Holy shit,” Stiles exclaimed, gazing through the door, “that’s the nemeton!”

“No,” the stagehand replied, “it’s the prop we use for the nemeton.”

Stiles stared at him. “You guys have a prop that’s a duplicate of the nemeton?”

“Yea,” the guy said, “we usually keep it in pieces in one corner of this storeroom. I came here a few days ago to get one of the props for the Loft set and I found it like this… all assembled and glowing and shit.”

Stiles looked at the faint violet glow coming from the prop before them. “Liam, can you look at it with your wolf eyes and tell me what you see?”

“Sure,” Liam said, moving a little closer.

“Be careful,” the stagehand said, putting an arm up to keep Liam from getting too close, “it’s surrounded by some kinda force field thingy. I tried to walk up to it when I first found it, and it knocked my ass against the wall."

Liam nodded his understanding. He gazed at the thing for a long moment. “Wow,” he said, finally.

“What?” Stiles asked.

“There’s this big freaking ball of violet light hovering just above it,” Liam replied. “What is it?”

“If I’m right,” Stiles said, “based on what Deaton told me, it’s the portal between our home universe and here.”


	16. Breakfast and Monsters

“How often do you guys eat here?” Dylan asked, looking around the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant.

“Two or three times a week,” Scott replied, pulling up a chair and plopping down next to Lydia.

“Ponder’s has the best breakfasts in town,” Derek said, taking a seat next to Dylan. “They’ve been here since before I was born.”

“Sure looks like they’ve got a good reputation,” Dylan said, looking around the small restaurant, which was already packed, even though it was only 7 a.m. It was interesting to see what Scott and his pack did in their everyday lives. The cast as well as many of the fans often speculated what it was like to be someone like Stiles or Derek when they went to buy groceries or pay bills. This was the real-life version of that. They had breakfast together several times a week.

“Yea, you have to get here early,” Derek continued, smiling. Then, he added in a low voice, “It also doesn’t hurt that the Ponders are a supernatural family.”

“Wolves?” Dylan whispered.

“Yep,” Derek replied.

Kira rushed in and sat down on the other side of Scott from Lydia. The space had obviously been left open specifically for her. “Hi guys,” she said, breathlessly, before giving Scott a peck on the cheek.

Dylan almost laughed aloud. Kira was wearing a Marvel Age of Ultron t-shirt under a black and gray shirt, which she wore open.

“You like Marvel,” Dylan said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Absolutely!” she replied, smiling. “Tony Stark is my man!”

“Hey, what about me?” Scott asked in mock indignation.

“Of course, you’re my number one man,” Kira said, in a placating tone. “Tony’s my movie superhero man.”

“Ooookaaaay, that’s good enough for me,” Scott said, pretending to be placated. They hugged and Scott gave her another kiss.

“Where’s Liam?” Malia asked Scott.

“I don’t know,” he replied, looking a little concerned. “I left a message for him on his cell phone, but I haven’t heard from him.

“Weird,” Malia said, furrowing her brows, “he’s usually the first one here when we get together.”

“Hi guys,” the young waitress said, bouncing over with what Dylan though was entirely too much energy for seven in the morning.

“Hi Marsha,” everyone around Dylan said a once.

“Everybody want their usual?” Marsha asked. There was a chorus of yeses, as everyone responded. Dylan decided he needed to go along and added his own yes to the responses.

 After the waitress left, Dylan turned to Malia, who was sitting on his other side from Derek and asked, under his breath, “What is Stiles usual?”

“Scrambled eggs and bacon,” she said.

“Good,” Dylan replied, with a sigh of relief, “I thought he might eat something really odd.”

“So, what was this thing you guys encountered last night?” Derek asked, in a low voice.

“We don’t know,” Scott replied, pulling out his phone. “We were hoping that you would have an idea.” He pulled up a photo of the thing and passed it over to Derek.” Everyone crowded around to look.

“And you said it smelled really bad?” Derek asked.

“Yea, everyone agreed it was the most awful thing they’d ever smelled,” Scott replied, wrinkling his nose.

“My guess is that it’s a goblin,” Derek said, handing Scott back his phone. “I’ve never seen one in person, but it fits the descriptions I’ve read. They all describe a short furry creature, about half the height of a man, with long claws and short fangs. And they all agree that it smells terrible.”

“That certainly fits,” Scott replied, taking the phone.

“The thing is,” Derek continued, “they’re very rare. They’re not from our world. They only appear here when someone summons them or when, for some reason, the barriers between the worlds are thin. According to legend, they occasionally find their way to our world on Halloween night, when the barrier between the worlds is particularly thin.”

“Well, this is nowhere near Halloween,” Dylan said. “Do you think that whatever brought me here might have brought it as well?”

 “Maybe,” Derek said shrugging, “it’s hard to tell.”

Turning to Scott, he asked, “How did you catch it? They have a fearsome reputation. They’re supposed to be really strong and fast, and nasty to anyone they don’t like.”

“It took me and four sheriff’s deputies, the special ones, to catch the thing. Then it took specially made high-strength shackles to hold him.”

“Wow,” Kira said, sounding amazed. Even Malia raised her eyebrows.

“What did you mean by ‘the special ones?’” Dylan asked.

“After all of the carnage in the sheriff’s department in the last year,” Scott replied in a very low voice, “Parrish and the sheriff recruited some supernaturals to replace the dead deputies. Besides me, there were three werewolves and a werecoyote there last night. And that doesn’t count that werewolf kid, Jason, who showed up to protect my mom.”

“Wow,” Dylan said. He had no idea. That definitely wasn’t part of season five’s plot line, at least as far as he knew.

 “And it took all five of you to hold the thing?” Malia asked, sounding amazed.

“Six,” Scott replied, “Jason had to get in on it too. That thing was wicked strong and fast, too.”

 “Where is it now?” Derek asked.

 “Eichen House,” Scott said. “They’re the only ones equipped to hold it.”

“Who’s this Jason kid?” Lydia asked.

 “He’s a fourteen year old freshman, who’s family are werewolves. He wanted to meet me,” Scott replied, with a sigh. “He showed up to talk to my mom and realized that she and one of the human cops were about to be eaten by that thing, so he stopped it. Fortunately, mom had called me and I showed up right after.”

“That was fortunate,” Derek said, “your mom is okay, right?”

“Yea, she’s fine,” Scott said. Derek nodded.

The food came and conversation quieted as they ate. Marsha was very attentive

When they had finished and were lingering over coffee, Dylan asked, “I wonder where this creature arrived at?”

“What do you mean?” Derek asked.

“What location did it appear at when it arrived in this universe?” Dylan said, rewording his question. “It might be useful to know. I mean, I arrived at the loft. Did the creature arrive downtown somewhere, or at the school, or somewhere else?”

“Officer Carlton traced it back to Beacon Preserve,” Scott responded.

“I’ll bet it came from the nemeton,” Lydia said, frowning.

“That’s a bet I won’t take,” Derek replied, somberly.

Scott started to say something, but at just that moment, Liam stumbled into the diner and joined them, looking disheveled and wide-eyed.

Malia, her smile suddenly fading, said, “You don’t smell like Liam?”

“No he doesn’t,” Scott replied, half rising, his hand flexing, apparently ready to extend claws.

The Liam lookalike, however, paid them no attention. Making a bee-line for Dylan, he grabbed at Dylan’s arm and said, in a shaky voice, “Dylan, is that you? Please say it’s you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Dylan replied, “Yea, it’s me.” Then, looking carefully at the teenager in front of him, he added, “Sprayberry, is that you?”

 "Yea,” Dylan Sprayberry replied, “thank God it’s you. I thought I was going crazy.”

It took a minute to sort everything out. Dylan motioned for everyone to stay calm and sit back down. He helped Sprayberry into an empty chair and made introductions. Then he got Marsha’s attention and ordered Sprayberry some coffee and something to eat.

“So,” Dylan said, when the dust had settled, “you got dumped into this universe too. When did it happen?”

“Sometime overnight,” Sprayberry replied, eyeing everyone at the table, “I was asleep and when I woke up this morning, I was in a strange bed, in a strange house, and Liam’s dad was knocking on the door telling me it was time to get up.”

 "You seem to have handled it well,” Derek replied, eyeing the sixteen-year-old.

“I would have freaked out entirely,” Sprayberry said, “if it hadn’t been for Stiles appearing on set yesterday.”

“Stiles is in your universe?” Scott said, a look of excitement on his face. “Is he okay?”

“Yea,” Sprayberry replied, “he’s doing great. Jeff hired him to replace Dylan until Dylan got back.”

“Replace Dylan?” Derek asked, sounding dubious and giving Dylan a look. Dylan felt himself blanche at the thought. Stiles wasn’t an actor. What would Stiles do to his acting reputation? He felt particularly ill at the thought that Stiles might be called out for an audition for Spiderman.

“Yea,” Sprayberry replied, “you know… to act in the show until Dylan gets back.

“That’s great,” Scott said, “we know that Stiles is alive and safe in Dylan’s universe.”

 "True,” Dylan said, trying to see the positive side of the news. How’d you find us?”

 “I got Scott’s text, and decided why not,” Sprayberry said.

"Well,” Dylan said with a smile, clapping an arm around Sprayberry, “welcome to Beacon Hills!”


	17. Schooled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is short, but it seemed logical to end it where I did. I'm already working on the next chapter and should have it ready for you by late Wednesday or sometime Thursday.

“Stilinski!” coach shouted, causing everyone in class to jump.

“Yes, sir,” Dylan said, looking up from the pop quiz that coach had given them to occupy their time, while he graded the essays they had turned in at the beginning of class. Dylan stared at coach, who was sitting at his desk holding the essay that Dylan had written for Stiles the night before. Then, he looked at Scott, who was sitting just in front of Dylan and had turned to give him an ‘oh shit, what the fuck have you done’ kind of look. Neither did much to bolster Dylan’s confidence that he was doing a proper Stiles impersonation.

“This essay,” coach continued, “did you get McCall to write it for you?”

“No, sir,” Dylan replied, concerned that he’d done something wrong.

“What about Lydia?” he pressed, getting up from his seat and coming to stand by Dylan’s desk, looming over him.

Oddly, the only thing Dylan could think of was how much coach looked like Orny Adams, the actor who played him on _Teen Wolf_. Why this thought struck him as odd, he didn’t know. Everyone here seemed to look like their counterparts in his universe, with only very minor differences. To coach, he said, “No, sir,” then added, “what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” coach replied, waving the essay at him, “that’s the problem. It’s clear, it’s focused, it doesn’t go off into totally unrelated subjects. As far as I can tell it’s nearly perfect. Which makes me want to ask two questions.”

“Yes, sir?” Dylan replied, extremely self-conscious, noticing the eyes of everyone in class on him.

Coach stared down at him, a stern expression on his face. “Who the hell are you and what have you done with Stilinski?” he asked. Everyone in class laughed. Scott snorted and there were even a couple of hoots from Lacrosse teammates in the back of the room.

Dylan tried to think of a smart-assed reply… something that Stiles would say. Then, he realized that the truth would go well in this situation. “Actually,” Dylan said with a sly smile, “my name is Dylan O’Brien and I’m an actor. Stiles and I got swapped to each other’s universe yesterday and I’m just trying to survive until I can get home.”

There was a long pause. Then, most of the class laughed, assuming, as Dylan had suspected they would, that he was just being Stiles and horsing around. Scott, however, looked like he was having a coronary, Lydia, who was sitting in the row next to Dylan looked wiled-eyed, and even Danny stared at him with narrowed, appraising eyes.

After a long pause, coach replied, “Now, that’s the Stiles I know… all snark… all the time! Carry on, Dylinski! Good job!” Coached snorted at his own blending of Dylan and Stiles names, turned and walked back to his desk, chuckling as he went.

=== ===

Dylan caught hell for his remarks after class.

“What were you thinking back there?!” Scott yelled at him when they were in the hall and some distance away from the rest of the class.

Lydia, who had followed along despite her next class being on the opposite side of the building, added, “That was very reckless, Dylan. What were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to get the attention of whoever or whatever switched Stiles and me,” Dylan replied. “I knew no one else would believe me. They’d just think that Stiles was being his usual snarky self. I thought if I could put out who I really am, then maybe I would get an odd reaction from someone, if they were the responsible party.”

“You could have outed all of us,” Scott replied, grabbing Dylan by the shoulder. “Please check with us before you do anything like that again.”

“Chill-lax dude,” Dylan said, looking at Scott, who was obviously mad at the whole episode, “no one would ever believe it.”

“You don’t know that,” Scott said, his hand still gripping Dylan’s shoulder. “If they did believe you, then it could ruin our whole lives. Not to mention putting other supernaturals here in Beacon Hills in danger.”

“I saw Danny looking at you after you said it,” Lydia responded, worry on her face. “He’s smart. I think he may be close to figuring it out.” Scott moaned, releasing Dylan and running his hand down his face in frustration.

Dylan stared at them. “You don’t know, do you?” he said, amazed. The cast had always assumed that Ethan had told them, but apparently not.

“If he guesses,” Scott began, “there’s no telling what….”

“He knows,” Dylan interrupted.

“What!” they both shouted at once, turning to face him, astounded.

“He knows,” Dylan repeated. “He revealed it to Ethan at the end of season 3B. That’s why he broke up with Ethan.”

“Ethan broke up with him,” Lydia replied, “in order to leave town.”

“Ethan started to break up with him,” Dylan said, turning to face Lydia, “but he interrupted and said he couldn’t date Ethan because he couldn’t date a werewolf. The cast always thought that Ethan told Scott before he left, but I guess not.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Scott said, his exasperation showing, “just because something happened on your show doesn’t mean it happened in real life… here in our universe.”

“Except that it did,” a voice said, behind them. A rather sheepish-looking Danny stepped out from behind a corner, near where they were standing. He, obviously, had heard the whole conversation.

“Oh-my-God!” Lydia exclaimed.

Scott’s mouth fell open and only a quiet, “Oh, shit,” came from his lips.


	18. Close Encounters of the Crazy Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here is the new chapter. Danny explains himself, Dylan has an encounter, and the pack has lunch. The next chapter will be much longer and will likely take some extra time to write. So, I plan to have it completed no later than a week from Sunday.  
>   
> Thanks for your comments and I hope you enjoy the chapter.
> 
> As a teaser, you may be interested in knowing that the next chapter (19) will be titled "The Seneschal."

“So, let me make sure I understand this,” Kira whispered to Scott, as they all stood in line for lunch, “Danny knows everything?”

“Pretty much,” Scott replied, in an equally muted voice.

Dylan smiled at the exchange. The last couple of hours had been awkward for Scott and his pack as word had spread among them that Danny actually knew what was happening, but that was okay as far as Dylan was concerned. He suspected that Danny would become an essential ally in helping him get back home and in getting Stiles back to this universe, so he was glad that it was working out this way. For the others, it was less than optimal. They were suddenly becoming aware that some normal people in town already knew about them, but were just keeping quiet.

Danny had patiently explained that his family had always known about the wolves, but had chosen not to get involved, as humans who did so often ended up dead. “It’s not exactly healthy for us human types,” Danny said. “Don’t get me wrong, Ethan’s a great guy, but it just felt too dangerous being around him.”

Now, they all stood in line together, the supernaturals a bit shocked, but beginning to adapt. Danny was just behind Dylan, eyeing him curiously. “So, you’re an actor in this other universe, right?” he whispered.

“Yea,” Dylan whispered back.

“And we’re like a television show?”

“Yea,” Dylan replied.

“And you play Stiles?”

“Equally yea,” Dylan replied, frustrated, as he had already explained this to Danny in the original hallway conversation.

“Fascinating,” Danny said, continuing to eye Dylan with extreme curiosity.

“Keahu?” Dylan replied. “He’s a serious science nerd who does cosplay at Comic Con every year. He has all of these great costumes he makes to wear at the convention.”

“That’s so awesome,” Danny said, smiling.

They arrived at the food and Dylan surveyed the choices. The lasagna looked good, so he chose that. He noticed a salad bar away from the main line, so he selected water for his drink and told the cashier that he also wanted the salad bar. She nodded and rang him up. He paid and headed for the salad.

He was just approaching the salad bar when a young woman blocked his way. She was obviously one of the cafeteria workers, from the way she was dressed. “I know what you are,” she said to him in a low voice. “I know that you’re not from here. It’s an abomination for you to be here.”

Dylan was taken aback. What did this woman know about him and his being “here?”

Another cafeteria worker came up to her and put an arm on the woman’s shoulder, “Now Marian,” she said in a low, patient voice, “you know you’re not supposed to talk with the students. You scare them. Go on back to the kitchen dear. They’ll have things for you to do there.”

The woman frowned and looked away. She mumbled something to herself, which Dylan thought included the word “abomination,” then she slinked away, toward the kitchen.

“I’m sorry about that,” the woman said, smiling, “she’s one of the workers we have from Eichen House. They’re supposed to be perfectly safe, but they still put one off, don’t they?”

“Yea,” Dylan replied, “thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” the woman said, smiling. “Have a great lunch.” She pointed at the salad bar and Dylan nodded, moving toward his original goal, a bit disturbed by the encounter.

He selected his salad, added dressing, and hurried out to find the others. They were at their usual spot, or at least the equivalent one at the real Beacon Hills High School. He plopped down between Scott and Lydia, across from Danny, who was sitting next to Sprayberry.

“Did you hear that encounter I had with the woman next to the salad bar?” Dylan asked Scott.

“Yea, I did,” Scott replied, eyeing him, “and that was creepy. Maybe you were on to something, outing yourself in class. Maybe that woman is connected to what’s going on, or at least knows something.”

“What happened?” Lydia asked. Dylan explained his encounter with the strange young woman, while the others listened with interest.

“I’ll ask my mom who she is,” Lydia said, when he had finished. “Maybe she knows, being a teacher and all.”

“I’ll check the school system employee records to see if I can find out anything on her,” Danny said. Everyone except Dylan looked at him like he was crazy.

“You can do that?” Scott asked.

“Well, yea,” Danny replied, as if it were something everyone with a computer could do.

Dylan thought they all would have known about Danny’s hacking abilities. Did they know on the show? He couldn’t remember. Regardless, they seemed not to have knowledge of it here in this universe, which was what counted. “Scott,” Dylan said, putting a hand on Scott’s shoulder, “Danny is really good at stuff like that.” He gave Scott a meaningful look, the kind that Stiles gave Scott whenever he wanted to say, I’ll tell you about it later… in private, but didn’t want to say that aloud.

Scott nodded. “Okay, then,” he said, smiling at Dylan.

They all settled in to lunch. When they were well into eating, Scott resumed the conversation, addressing Danny. “I understand why you didn’t say anything,” he said, “but why didn’t Ethan warn us? It’s something we needed to know, for our safety and all.”

“I asked him not to,” Danny said. “We don’t like supernaturals knowing about us, because it opens us up to being dragged into their… your world, which could be really dangerous for us.” Seeing the look on Scott’s face, he added, “It’s not like we’re a danger to you. We’re not going to cause you any trouble or anything like that. We just want to be left alone.”

“Then why come forward and tell us now?” Lydia asked.

“Well, first of all, Dylan here outed us to you with that whole comment about me knowing and breaking up with Ethan,” Danny said, wagging a finger at Dylan, “and then, the fact that people are swapping universes means that the rules have changed… like fundamentally. We need to all work together. I mean… this is weird, even for Beacon Hills.”

“True,” Scott said. He paused for a minute, looking to Dylan like he was in deep thought. “Well, he said, finally, “I’m glad you know. You’re right, we do need to work together… all of us. We definitely need your help on this one.

That settled it. If Scott was on board with Danny knowing, then so was the rest of the pack.

Dylan opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, Stiles’ phone, along with those of Scott, Kira, Lydia, and Malia chimed with text messages. Dylan looked at the message. It was from Deaton. “Come to the clinic ASAP after school/work. Important news to share.” He noted that the sheriff, Parrish, and Derek were also on the recipient list for the message.


	19. The Seneschal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi All! I was able to finish this chapter a lot sooner than I anticipated, so here it is.
> 
> Dylan and the gang go to the animal clinic and Deaton tells them about his visit to Stiles (see chapter 11 -- Sleeping Druids, for details).
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading!

It was just after 3:30 p.m. by the clock on Deaton’s wall, when Dylan burst into the animal clinic, Danny by his side and the rest of the pack just behind him. He noticed that Derek, Sheriff Stilinski, Parrish, and another deputy, who Dylan did not recognize were already there. “So, what’s going on?” he asked Deaton. “What did you find?

“Danny,” Deaton said, acknowledging the new addition.

“Dr. Deaton,” Danny replied.

To Dylan, Deaton said, “I have found some very interesting things. My journey was very successful. But first, introductions are in order. For those of you who don’t know, this is Deputy Jack Carlton. He’s a member of the Supernatural Crimes and Persons Enforcement team in the sheriff’s department.”

“Really?” Dylan asked, curiosity getting the better of him. "The show didn’t have anything like this, at least not so far. Pleased to meet you,” he said, “extending his hand.”

“You too,” Carlton said, smiling and shaking hands. “Dylan, right?”

“Yea,” Dylan said, “that’s my name… when I’m not pretending to be Stiles.”

Carlton chuckled and replied, “I can’t tell the difference.”

“The scary thing is, neither can I,” Stilinski said, a wry smile on his face.

Deaton smiled, and continued, “Now that the introductions are over, I’m sure you’d all like to hear what happened.”

“Wait,” Dylan said, “we have an introduction of our own. “He pointed toward Sprayberry, who was standing next to Scott, “This is Dylan Sprayberry. He plays Liam on my show. He showed up in Liam’s bed this morning.”

“Yes, I expected something like that,” Deaton said, looking carefully at Sprayberry. “Stiles told me that Liam suddenly appeared in the bathroom at Dylan’s house last night. So we assumed that Mr. Sprayberry ended up here with us.”

Dylan arched an eyebrow, “He appeared in my bathroom?”

“Apparently nude and covered in soap,” Deaton said with a smile.

Dylan was aware that his mouth dropped open. “Well, at least Britt wasn’t there to see it,” he said, smiling and shaking his head.

“Actually, she was,” Deaton said. “Stiles said something about her having a week off because of storms. I didn’t really understand it.”

Dylan covered his face with his hands. “Shit… shit… shit…,” he said, “Britt is there… with Stiles and now Liam. She knows about all of this?”

“Yes,” Deaton said, “according to Stiles she does. She’s letting them stay in the guest bedrooms.”

“He’s taken my place on the set and he’s living with my girlfriend,” Dylan said, shaking his head in disgust. “Now, I’m jealous.”

“If it’s any consolation, he’s jealous of you, too,” Deaton replied.

“What? What does he have to be jealous about?” Dylan asked, amazed.

“He’s jealous that you’re living with his father and girlfriend, that you can cook, and that you’re older and more sophisticated than he is,” Deaton said. “Personally, I don’t think either of you should worry too much.”

Dylan shook his head and turned away. “You know,” he said, finally, turning back to face Deaton, “you’re probably right. I think all that either of us want’s is to get back home to the people we love, not start lives in other universes.”

Stilinski took a couple of steps and patted Dylan on the shoulder. “We’re here to help both of you,” he said. “So, Deaton, what can you tell us.”

Deaton spent the next ten minutes telling them in detail about his astral visit to Stiles’ dreams, emphasizing that Stiles repeatedly told him to tell his father and Malia that he loved them and Scott that he missed him.

“The most important part, however," he continued, "is not what happened when I was with Stiles, but what happened when I started back.”

“What happened?” Scott asked, looking both concerned and interested.

“I met the Fay,” Deaton said, “and I brought one of them with me.” He walked to a door off the main room and opened it. A man walked in, but he was clearly not a human man. Standing about four and a half feet tall, he was slight of build, had golden hair, and eyes of the brightest azure, like polished lapis. He was dressed in fine linen clothing of muted earth tones, mostly greens and browns. His pale skin seemed to glow, and his movements, as we walked into the room were lithe and flowing. It was almost as if he floated across the floor rather than walked.

“This is Silveron,” Deaton said, introducing him. “He is a seneschal for Oberon, king of the Fay.” He then provided Silveron with the name of each person in the room. Dylan thought that the Fay’s eyes were the most penetrating he’d ever seen. When Silveron looked at him, it seemed like those eyes reached into his soul and saw every secret he had, like they were a flashlight probing every nook and corner of Dylan’s inner self.

“What’s a seneschal?” Stilinski asked.

“A seneschal is a royal officer in charge of justice and administration,” Silveron replied, with authority. “In those times your people refer to as ‘medieval,’ they were also in charge of household administration and servants. These latter functions are not among my duties.”

“Alright, then,” Stilinski said, “so, basically, you’re a cop.

“More like a cross between a ‘cop,’ as you so quaintly put it, and a general,” Silveron replied.

“Do you know who’s swapping people between universes,” Scott asked, getting to the point.

“No,” Silveron replied, “but, whoever they are, we want them to stop. Their meddling is causing damage not only to your universes, but to ours as well.”

“How?” Scott replied.

“Simply put,” Silveron replied, somberly, “whoever has done this has routed the conduit between your universes through our universe. Our universe is a spiritual realm, not a corporeal one, meaning that we are beings of spirit, not of matter. By transferring matter through our universe, they are causing it to break.”

“That was simple?” Malia asked. Everyone except Lydia, looked like they were as puzzled by Silveron’s statement as Malia.

“Let me explain it another way,” Deaton said. “It’s like all three of our universes are nodes on an electrical circuit and the current is routed through all three of those nodes. So, the current has to flow through their node (in other words, their universe) to get to ours. The trouble is that their node can’t handle as much electrical current as ours. Whoever or whatever is doing this is putting too much current through the circuit, even for our universes to handle. So, it will damage our universes, but it will destroy theirs.

“Destroy?” Scott asked, sounding astounded, “like in ka-boom?”

“More like, as in rip apart,” Deaton replied.

“Won’t that kill everyone there?” Scott asked, horror on his face.

“Yes,” Silveron replied. “It will utterly destroy my people.”

“That’s terrible,” Scott said. “How do we stop it and get everyone back to the right universe?”

“We don’t yet know,” Silveron replied, “but we are studying the problem and we want to engage both universes in conversation about it, as it affects us all.

“Great,” Dylan replied, excitedly, “then you can communicate with my universe, right?”

“Absolutely,” Silveron replied.

“Well, why can’t you just transfer us all back to the right one?” Dylan asked.

“I could,” Silveron replied, obviously trying to be patient, “but that would not solve the problem and might make it worse.”

Dylan started to say something, but Silveron held up a hand to stop him.

“First, the conduit would remain open and more matter, as we have already seen, will continue to be transferred,” he continued, “either deliberately or, increasingly at random. In addition, as I would have to transfer matter through my universe to get each of you back to your own, it would further damage mine.”

Dylan nodded, understanding.

“I am afraid that the only way to stop this permanently is to close those portals, transferring all of you back to your homes, just before doing so,” Silveron said. “To do that will require us knowing who caused this and preventing them from doing it again. It will also require considerable coordination between the universes. That is where you come in.” he pointed at Dylan, who was surprised.

“Me?” he asked. “How?”

“You and the one known as Stiles were the first to be switched,” Silveron said, “which means that the two of you have the strongest connections with both universes.” He approached Dylan, moving with the light, floating step that Dylan had noticed before. When he was face to face with Dylan, he leaned forward and took a deep breath.

“Great,” Dylan said, shaking his head and almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it, “someone else smelling me. What is it with all of the sniffing and smelling?”

“Scents carry with them great amounts of information,” Silveron replied. “Yes, I smell both universes on you. Your connection is strong and I daresay that your counterpart will have a similar connection.”

“And how is this important?” Dylan asked.

“It means that you’re the logical one to communicate between the universes,” Silveron replied as if it should be entirely obvious, which it was not at all to Dylan. His expression must have shown his inner thoughts, because Silveron looked impatient for the first time.

“Pull out the device you call a telephone,” he said, matter-of-factly.

Dylan pulled out Stiles’ cell phone and handed it to Silveron, who waved it away with disgust.

“My kind cannot touch such things,” he replied. “Neither metal nor technology is good for us, and that thing contains both. However, if you would be so kind as to hold it out, flat in your hand, and face up.”

Dylan complied.

“What is the number of your telephone in your home universe,” Silveron asked.

Dylan gave him his cell phone number.

“Is this the number that this Stiles person is most likely to have?” Silveron asked Dylan.

“I guess,” Dylan replied, not at all sure. His cell phone had been in his pants. If Stiles were pretending to be him, then he should have it.

“Yes,” Deaton prompted. Silveron nodded.

“Now, please face east… um… that way,” Silveron pointed and Dylan turned slightly to face east.

Silveron pulled a yellow piece of cloth from a pocket and covered Dylan’s hand, careful not to come into contact with the phone. Then, he began to chant in a strange language. The words were light and airy. They had a soft, poetic cadence to them that almost sounded like a song… the lightest and most beautiful song Dylan had ever heard. He felt like he was floating on a sea of clouds with the warmth of the spring sun in his face and a gentle, cool breeze blowing from behind. It was wonderful. He felt like he could listen to that song forever. As he listened, he noticed that parts of the yellow cloth began to glow, with a purple shimmer. This intensified, until Dylan could clearly see glowing rune-like symbols covering the cloth. They pulsed in rhythm to Silveron’s voice, and seemed to dance on the surface of the cloth. Then, Silveron stopped his cadence and everything snapped back to normal. It was the most bittersweet moment in Dylan’s life. He longed for the return of that song, for the feelings it invoked, for the peace he had felt. Then he realized that his arm hurt like hell, like he had been lifting weights for an hour or something.

“Ouch,” he said, lowering his arm and flexing his extremely stiff muscles. “Why is my arm so sore?”

“Dylan,” Lydia replied, and Dylan noticed that they were all looking at him like he was nuts, “You’ve been holding your arm out like that for 30 minutes. I’m amazed it’s not falling off.”

“No,” Dylan said, “it’s only been a few seconds.” Then, he looked at the wall clock. It showed 4:13 p.m., more than 30 minutes later than when he had looked at it on their arrival. Holy shit, he thought to himself. She’s right.

“What did you do to him?” Scott asked, concern on his face.

“A side effect of the magic I used,” Silveron replied, as if it were no big deal. “Fay magic can play with time in unpredictable ways. Because he was touching the device and the cloth was draped over his hand, thereby touching him, it had a much stronger effect on him than the rest of you. While time moved more of less normally for you, it was… what do the scientists in your universe say? Oh, yes, it was rather ‘dilated’ for him. He experienced only a few seconds of time passing.”

“Seriously?” Malia said.

“Yes,” Silveron replied.

“What did you just do?” Stilinski asked.

“Yea, I’d like to know that too,” Dylan added, handing the Fay back his yellow cloth.

“I placed a magic spell on the telephone,” Silveron replied, folding the cloth carefully, and returning it to his pocket. “If you dial the number you gave me, it will connect to the corresponding telephone in your home universe. At the same time, I made the connection the other way as well. So, if someone in the other universe uses that telephone to call the number for the telephone you are holding, it will ring on the one in this universe.

“Whoa, really,” Scott said. Silveron looked at Scott like he was monumentally dense, but nodded.

“Try it,” Lydia said.

Dylan dialed his cell phone number, using Stiles’ phone, then put it on speaker, so that everyone could hear. The phone rang, clearly audible throughout the room. After five rings, it went to voice mail. “This is Dylan,” he heard his voice say over the phone’s speaker, “leave me a message and I’ll call you back.” Then the beep.

“Stiles,” Dylan said into the phone, “this is Dylan O’Brien, we need to talk. I’m able to call you thanks to a friendly fairy. Call your cell phone number and it should reach me in this universe.”

Dylan looked at Malia, who jumped forward and said into the phone, “Stiles, this is Malia. I love you baby. Call us.”

Stilinski didn’t need prompting, he bent his head over the phone in Dylan’s hand and said, “Stiles, this is your dad. I love you, son. Call us.”

Dylan clicked the end button.

“Yes!” Scott said, and pumped the air. The room erupted into cheers. It was the first good thing to happen since this whole mess had started and they were all taking advantage of it to celebrate.


	20. Pizza and Phone Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Liam finish filming for the day and celebrate with Posey. When they discover that Stiles has received a phone call across universes, conversation ensues.

Stiles shuffled toward Dylan’s trailer. He was exhausted. He had walked into the makeup trailer at 6:30 the previous morning. Now, 20 hours later, he had just finished filming for the day. Thank God his next call wasn’t until 5:30 p.m. He wondered if he actually had enough energy to make it back to Dylan’s house from the studio. Maybe he should just crash in the trailer. It wouldn’t do to wreck Dylan's car, possibly killing himself in the process, just trying to drive home.

He heard people running behind him, but was too tired to turn and see who it was. “Stiles, hold up!” Posey shouted.

“If I stop, I’m going to fall over,” Stiles replied, with what little energy he had left, continuing to shuffle toward the trailer.

Posey easily overtook him and Stiles saw that the other person was Liam, who looked surprisingly energetic for having just worked a 20 hour day. Something to be said for werewolf stamina, Stiles thought.

Posey was carrying a couple of pizza boxes, while Liam toted two six-packs of soda. From the sweat dripping off of the soda cans, they looked very cold. Seeing the cans, Stiles suddenly realized he was thirsty.

“We brought pizza and drinks,” Posey said, brandishing the boxes. “We thought we’d celebrate you guys’ first day of filming.” Posey certainly had a boundless enthusiasm about him. Stiles wondered why this 23 year old suddenly seemed like the fresh-faced, innocent teenager, while he, the actual fresh-faced though not so innocent teenager, seemed like the old man. Not that 23 was old, but it was definitely older than 17.

“Sorry, but too tired,” Stiles replied, stifling a yawn. “All I want is to make it to Dylan’s trailer and pass out.”

“You’re not going back to the house?” Liam asked, looking surprised.

“Too tired,” Stiles mumbled, “afraid I’ll wreck the car.”

“Oh,” Liam said, “I could drive.”

“Well, ’s possibility,” Stiles mumbled. "If I don’t pass out before I get to the car, then you can certainly drive me, if you want.”

“Come on, Stiles,” Posey said, “have one slice with us. You’ll feel better if you get some food in you.”

“Okay,” Stiles replied, eyeing the soda cans again, “but I’m not going to guarantee that I’ll stay awake long enough to finish that slice. If I start snoring, just cover me with a blanket and put a do not disturb sign on the trailer door.”

“Okay,” Posey said, smiling. They then walked with Stiles as he made his way slowly to Dylan’s trailer.

Thirty minutes later and they were sitting in the trailer, eating pizza and talking about the day’s filming. Posey had been right, Stiles felt much better after a slice of pizza and a caffeine filled soda. He was still tired, but not feeling the all-consuming exhaustion he had felt earlier.

“Did you see the look on Leonard’s face when Liam shifted,” Posey said, grabbing his side, he was laughing so hard. “I thought he was going to shit his pants.”

“Yea,” Stiles said, “he looked like he’d seen a dozen ghosts tap dancing across the set.”

Liam laughed. “I wish I’d seen that,” he said, “I was so busy with the acting that I hardly noticed, except that Cody was freaking out and there was a lot of noise around the set.”

“Yea,” Stiles replied, “I’m surprised they all got over it so fast. To be totally freaked out by Liam, then pretty cool with him again by late afternoon. I’ve never seen anyone go back to normal that quickly, and for all of them to do that. That’s amazing.

“Our guys are pretty amazing,” Posey said, with a sense of pride. “They can adapt to pretty much anything, fast. They need to, working on our set.”

“Seems like it,” Liam said, reaching for another slice of pizza. He pulled back an empty hand. “We’re out,” he said, frowning.

“Want me to order more?” Stiles asked, reaching for Dylan’s phone.

“Yea,” Liam and Posey said simultaneously.

It was then that Stiles noticed he’d missed a call. “Huh,” he said, “Dylan had a call.” He checked the number and sat up straight, shock on his face.

“What’s wrong?” Posey asked.

“It’s my cell phone number,” Stiles said, turning the phone around so that they could see the number for the missed call. “That’s my cell phone number… in my universe.”

“Wow,” Posey said.

“Hey, it looks like there’s a voicemail,” Liam said.

“Check it,” Posey said.

Stiles clicked on the voicemail and put the phone to his ear. Listening to the message, his eyes went wide and his heart started racing. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed, “It’s from Dylan!”

“He clicked the button for speakerphone and replayed the voicemail. They all heard Dylan’s voice say, “Stiles, this is Dylan O’Brien, we need to talk. I’m able to call you thanks to a friendly fairy. Call your cell phone number and it should reach me in this universe.” This was followed by messages from Malia and Stiles’ dad.

All three of them started jumping and shouting at the same time. When the celebration died down, Posey said, “Well, are you going to call him back?”

“Yea,” Stiles replied, then wondered aloud, “but isn’t it really late there now, just like here?”

When’s the time stamp on the call,” Liam asked.

“Four-eighteen p.m.,” Stiles replied, looking at the time the call came in. “Maybe we should wait until morning?”

“No,” Posey replied, “it’s too important. You should call them now. They need to know we got the call.”

“You’re probably right,” Stiles said, “but maybe we should see if Jeff wants to be on the call, too.”

“That’s a good idea,” Posey replied. “You want me to get him?”

“Yea, if you know where he is,” Stiles said.

“Pretty sure,” Posey replied, getting up and moving toward the door. “Be right back.” He disappeared and Stiles heard him running toward the main building.

“This is great,” Stiles said to Liam, while they waited for Posey to return, “being able to talk to people in our universe is going to help a lot in figuring out what’s going on and how to get back.”

“Yea,” Liam said, smiling, “I’m sure it will.” Then he sighed.

“What’s wrong, dude?” Stiles asked.

“I want to get back,” he said, frowning, “but, you know, it’s so nice, being in a world that doesn’t have monsters and shit trying to kill us all the time. It’s so nice that the only problems we have are remembering our lines and running out of pizza.”

“Yea,” Stiles said, carefully, “but, don’t you miss your family? Don’t you miss Scott?”

“Absolutely,” Liam replied, “and I don’t mean that I want to stay here. It’s just that… well… when we get back, I’m going to miss having a normal life.”

He thought for a moment, then added, “You do realize that all of the stuff we’re dealing with in filming the show is probably going to come true when we get back home. Theo… the monsters… Derek being away… it’s all going to hit us like a ton of bricks.”

“Yea,” Stiles said, sadly, “I know. But, you know what?”

“What?” Liam asked.

“It’ll give us a heads up in dealing with it back in our world. And I, for one, will do anything to be back home with my dad, Malia, and Scott. If I have to deal with Theo… if I have to face monsters… then I’ll do it. As for Derek going away for a while… well, I’ll deal with that too.”

“You’ve become close friends lately, haven’t you?” Liam asked.

“Yea, we have,” Stiles said, sighing. “Being possessed by demons… nearly killed by hordes of assassins… killed by claw-wielding berserkers and transforming into a full wolf… all that changes you. It makes you closer to the people you’ve shared those hard experiences with. People you never thought you’d even want to be close to become your best friends.”

“Yea,” I’m getting that feeling,” Liam said, putting a hand on Stiles shoulder and squeezing.

“Whatever the future has in store for us…,” Stiles began.

“We’ll face it together,” Liam finished.

“As a pack,” Stiles added, and Liam nodded.

The trailer door swung open and Jeff rushed in, followed by Posey. “Let me hear the message,” Jeff said, without preamble.

“Sure,” Stiles replied, and replayed the voicemail for him.

“We should call him back now,” Jeff said, excitedly.

“Okay,” Stiles said. He placed the phone on the table and dialed the number. Speakerphone was still on, so everyone could hear it ringing. Stiles thought it was going to voicemail, but at the last possible moment, Dylan answered. “Hello,” he said, in a groggy voice.

“Dylan,” Stiles replied, “this is Stiles, Jeff, Posey, and Liam.

“Hey,” Dylan said in an excited voice, “you got my message.”

“Yea,” Stiles replied, “sorry it took so long, we’ve been filming all day and we just now got done.”

“Dylan,” Jeff asked, “are you alright?”

“Yea, Jeff,” he responded, “I’m fine. It’s been a wild ride and I want to get home, but I’m doing well.”

“Good,” Jeff said, a look of relief on his face. “You know how much I care about all of you guys. It scared me silly when you disappeared from the set.”

“I know,” Dylan said, “but, don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“Dylan,” Stiles said, deciding it was time to get down to business, “tell us about this fairy that’s helping you guys.”

“Sure,” Dylan said, “his name is Silveron. Oberon, king of the Fay, sent him to help us. Apparently, whoever is doing this routed the conduit between our two universes through the fairy universe to deliberately destroy it.”

“Ouch,” Liam interjected, a pained look on his face, “that sounds terrible.” The others nodded.

“Can they get us back to our own universes?” Stiles asked.

“Yes,” but it’s more complicated than that.

“Of course it is,” Stiles said under his breath. "Why is it always more complicated than that? Why couldn’t it be easy, just for once?" he asked himself.

“How so?” Jeff asked Dylan.

“We need to catch whoever is doing this, first,” Dylan said, “otherwise, they can just repeat the process and we’ll be back where we started.”

“Any ideas how we do that?” Posey asked.

“Silveron thinks that they’re probably Fay,” Dylan replied. “That means that they can be detected by any magic used to detect fairies.”

“Uh… how do we get access to that?” Stiles asked. “In case you don’t remember, this universe doesn’t do real magic.”

“Actually, it does,” Dylan replied, and Stiles thought he sensed a tone of amusement in Dylan’s voice. “It’s just hidden.”

“What do you mean?” Jeff asked.

“Magic practitioners are marginalized in our universe,” Dylan replied. “People think they’re nuts, or eccentric, or what have you, so no one really pays any attention to them. But they’re there and some of them work with the Fay.”

“So, you’re saying we need to find a witch or something?” Stiles asked.

“No,” Dylan replied, “Silveron is sending you a practitioner of fairy magic. You just need to let her in when she shows up at the studio door.”

“Do we know her name?” Jeff asked.

“Margot,” Dylan replied.

“I’ll make sure the guards bring her directly to me, when she shows up,” Jeff said. “Do we know when that will be?”

“Not definitely, but in the next week or so,” Dylan said. “Silveron said it will take a little time to locate her and make contact.”

Okay, we’ll be on the lookout for her,” Jeff said.

“Cool,” Dylan said. “In the meantime, you guys need to locate the gateway on your side of the conduit. Deaton says it’s in a dark room somewhere.”

“We already know where it is,” Stiles said, proudly, and Jeff raised an eyebrow.

“Where?” Dylan asked.

“It’s in a storage room,” Stiles said.

“Yea,” Posey said, “someone took the nemeton prop and put it together and made a portal out of it.”

“When were you guys going to tell me that?” Jeff asked, sounding upset.

“As soon as we could,” Stiles replied. “We’ve just been so busy filming and we didn’t find out until late afternoon.”

“So you guys have access to it?” Dylan asked.

“Not really,” Posey said. “It has some kind of force field around it.

“Really?” Dylan asked.

“Yep,” Stiles said, “the guy who discovered it told us that it knocked him across the room when he got too close to it.”

Jeff shook his head.

“Good to know,” Dylan said. “Deaton says that the nemeton is the source of the portal on our side, too. We’re going there tomorrow, after school to check it out. Now we know to be careful.”

“Yes,” Stiles said, “definitely a good idea.”

“By the way,” Dylan said, sounding like he just thought of something, “are you and Liam going to Banshee Con for Sprayberry and me, or does Jeff need to call and cancel?”

“What the hell is a Banshee Con?” Stiles asked. “Do they have banshee conventions in this universe or something?”

“No,” Posey said, smacking himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand, in a gesture that said, I should have thought of that, “it’s a Teen Wolf convention. It’s here in LA this weekend. Most of the cast and a lot of the crew are going. We’ve all just been so busy and with the weirdness going on and all, everyone forgot about it.”

“Maybe we should cancel,” Jeff said, frowning. “I think it’s probably too much to ask you guys to go to a fan convention. You’re completely unprepared.”

“No,” Stiles said, “I think we definitely should go. We need to do all the things that Dylan and Sprayberry would do. If they’d go, then we should go.”

“Uh… I don’t think you understand,” Dylan said, “fan conventions are great, but they can be pretty intense. A lot of people take these characters very seriously. They dress up like, Scott, Lydia, Stiles, Derek, or a lot of the other characters. It can be very intimidating, if you’re not used to it.”

“We’ll be fine,” Stiles said, wondering what the problem was. Big deal. The fans love the characters. That was great. Stiles was into the idea that there were people who loved him in this universe.

“Okay,” Jeff said, “if you want to. It’ll certainly make life easier if we don’t have to cancel.”

Stiles heard Dylan sigh through the phone. “What’s wrong Dylan?” he asked.

“If anyone asks you whether you’ve heard anything about the role of Spiderman,” Dylan said, “please just tell them that you haven’t heard anything. Don’t elaborate, don’t make anything up. Just tell them that you haven’t heard anything, okay?”

“Sure,” Stiles said. Are you up for the role of Spiderman?”

Posey went wide-eyed and shook his head, mouthing “don’t ask that.”

“Never mind,” Stiles said. “Posey’s about to have a heart attack, so I’d better not ask anything or we’ll have to call the paramedics for him.”

“Thanks, Posey,” Dylan said.

The conversation continued for a few more minutes, then Dylan woke Malia and Stiles’ dad, so that they could talk with him. Finally, Dylan and Stiles agreed to talk again at 9 p.m. and hung up.

Stiles, Posey, Jeff, and Liam then ordered pizza and more soda, before spending the next two hours eating and discussing next steps in identifying the guilty fairy responsible for the mess they were in, and what attending a fan convention would be like. Afterward, Liam drove Stiles and himself home, where they tumbled into their beds, just as the sun was coming up.


	21. Nemeton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pack and the cops visit the nemeton, looking for clues as to how it is able to support such strong magic and who, exactly, is causing the problem. I hope you enjoy.

The nemeton was bigger in real life than Dylan remembered it being as a prop on set. The top of the old stump came up above Dylan’s knees and it looked like it was wider across than he was tall.

The entire pack, along with Deaton, Stilinski, Carlton, and a deputy named Reeves were in the clearing surrounding nemeton. To Dylan, that clearing looked desolate, covered in dead, decaying leaves, but nothing else. Nothing seemed to grow near the nemeton, no trees, shrubs, or bushes lived anywhere within 50 feet of it, and Dylan noticed that even insects seemed to avoid it.

“Well, it doesn’t look like it’s changed much since the last time I was here,” Stilinski said, grimly.

“Maybe we should examine it closer,” Reeves suggested.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, Ben” Carlton said, reaching out a hand and gently holding him back. “It’s supposed to be protected by some kind of force field.

“Let me see how close I can get to it,” Scott replied. “I’m an alpha, I should be able to take more of a punch than the rest of you.”

“Be careful,” Stilinski said, frowning. “We don’t need for you to get seriously hurt.”

“I will,” Scott replied. Slowly, he inched forward, right hand outstretched, feeling the air in front of him with his fingertips. While he did this, Dylan tried to reconcile what he was seeing with the description of what Deaton saw a couple of nights before, when he had astral projected through it. Seeing it with human eyes, it just looked like a really big, dead stump from a tree that someone had long ago cut down. Deaton had described it as being surrounded by all kinds of energy, permeating it, flowing through and around it, and topped by a giant ball of violet energy, that was the portal itself.

Scott was getting close to the nemeton itself and there was still no signs of a force field. Maybe it was only in his world, on the other side of the portal. Maybe it was something else, entirely. Then, Scott’s fingers touched an invisible barrier and sparks sprang around his fingertips like tiny lightning bolts. “Ouch!” he yelled and yanked back his hand, shaking it violently, like he’d been stung by something and was trying to get whatever it was off of him. “Found it,” he added. “it’s really close to the edge of the nemeton. Only about six inches or so out, but it’s definitely there.”

“What did it feel like?” Deaton asked.

“Like I stuck my fingers in an electric socket,” Scott replied.

“Any residual effects?” Deaton asked.

“Yea, they feel numb. Again, it’s like I stuck them in an electric socket,” Scott said, continuing to shake his hand, apparently trying to get feeling back into his fingers.

“Well, we know the force field is real, but that it only effects physical objects,” Deaton said. “That’s useful information.”

“How do we know that it only effects physical objects?” Malia asked.

“Because I astrally projected through it and I got through without any effects whatsoever,” he replied.

“So, non-corporal beings, like fairies, can pass through it at will,” Lydia said.

“It would seem so,” Deaton responded, rubbing his chin.

“But, if that’s the case,” Carlton said, “then how was the goblin that showed up the other day able to come through. Were we wrong? Did it not come through the portal, but from somewhere else?”

“Good question,” Deaton said. “Unfortunately, we don’t have enough information to answer that yet.”

“I’m wondering how the nemeton got all this power that Deaton says it’s supposed to have,” Stilinski said. “Surely, the few sacrifices that have taken place here in the last few decades can’t explain that, can they?”

“No they can’t,” Deaton said, “and there aren’t any signs of recent sacrifices. So, where is that power coming from?”

“There has to be something here,” Lydia said, wrapping her hands around herself and shivering, “I feel it.”

“What exactly do you feel?” Deaton asked, putting an arm around her, looking concerned.

“Death,” she said in a breathy voice, as if the word drained the very life out of her, “and not just one or two… lots.

“That’s not good,” Stilinski said, frowning, “but I don’t see any indication of it. Does anyone?”

They all looked around, most shaking their heads, as they failed to see anything that indicated any kind of sacrifice, human or otherwise.

Dylan suddenly thought of something. “Where’s the old root cellar you guys were trapped in?” he asked Stilinski.

“Over there,” the sheriff replied, pointing, “behind you and a little to my left.

Dylan looked, but didn’t see anything. “Huh, I don’t see it,” he said, wandering in the direction Stilinski had indicated.

“It fell in,” Scott said.

“Yea, but there should still be a hole in the ground or something,” Dylan said, but I don’t see anything, not even disturbed earth. He walked a little farther. “Nope, nothing. Maybe it’s over here, more,” he said, pointing to Stilinski’s left. He took two steps in that direction and his feet fell out from under him, like the earth had suddenly opened up and was trying to swallow him. He screamed and grabbed for any kind of handhold he could find. Just as it looked like he was going to slide all the way to hell, his fingers found a root, and he grasped it, jerking to a halt, feet dangling into a substantial hole that had opened under them.

Above him, Dylan heard shouting and the rush of feet, as people registered his disappearance and ran to help. Scott was there first, reaching down to grab his wrist. The next thing Dylan knew, he was being hauled bodily up out of the hole. Other hands grabbed him as he came up and soon, he was standing on solid ground, scared, but none-the-worse for his ordeal.

“Are you alright?” Scott asked, supporting Dylan while he got his equilibrium back.

“Yea, I think so,” Dylan said, running his hands over his body to check that nothing was cut or broken. Finally, when he was sure that he actually was okay, he sighed. “That was scary as hell,” he said, forcing a small laugh.

Stilinski and the other cops were standing over the hole, shining flashlights into it. They had pulled back a large canvas tarp that had been covering the hole, and which was, itself, covered with leaves to disguise it. “Well,” Stilinski said, looking up, grim-faced, “Dylan found the source of the nemeton’s new-found power.” He pointed into the hole. As they looked, they all gasped. Lydia turned away and buried her face in Deaton’s shoulder. The hole contained bodies… dozens of bodies… animal and human… in various states of decay.

Dylan suddenly felt sick at his stomach. He almost made it out of the clearing before he lost his lunch.


	22. CSI - Beacon Hills Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beacon Hills CSI are one the scene, a creature shows up looking for dinner, and Fairies arrive to lend a hand. I hope you enjoy.

Two hours later and the Beacon Hills sheriff’s department had descended on the nemeton in full force. Every SCAPE deputy had been called in, along with the few non-SCAPE deputies who knew what was going on. The area had been cordoned off, with only the SCAPE officers and the pack allowed within. Lydia and Kira were staffing a refreshment table just outside the cordon, handing out hot cups of coffee, pastries, and sandwiches to the cops on their breaks.

“Thanks,” Dylan said, juggling five Styrofoam cups as he turned to head back into the cordon. He was feeling better since he barfed at the edge of the clearing, several hours before, thought he continued to avoid looking into the pit for fear of a repeat performance.

“You’re welcome, Kira said, coming around the table to lift the police tape for him.

“And thanks for that, too,” he said, smiling at her.

“No problem,” she said, smiling back.

Dylan walked back to the group of cops and werewolves that was the center of the investigation. Standing near the hole, Stilinski, Parrish, Carlton, and Scott formed a tight circle, heads bent, discussing the situation.

“How the hell are we going to explain this?” Stilinski was asking the others.

“Cult sacrifice?” Carlton suggested.

“No, that would raise too many red flags,” Stilinski said, shaking his head. “We’d have feds all over us, and not just Scott’s father.”

“What about saying that it’s the dumping site for a serial killer?” Dylan asked. “You could say that teenagers walking in the woods found it and it appears to be where some sicko serial killer is disposing of his bodies. There are lots of serial killers around. It’s concerning, but won’t freak people out more than usual.”

“That’s a good idea, Dylan,” Parrish said, nodding. “I like that idea.”

“Not sure what it says about our society, that it would be concerning, but not freak people out,” Stilinski said, “but I’m all for it if it works.”

Just as they settled that matter, the Crime Scene Investigation guy climbed out of the hole, having completed his initial survey of the scene. He was a huge burly guy, who stood about fix-foot-eight-inches and had a full beard. When the guy first arrived, Scott had pointed him out to Dylan and said that he was a werebear named Tommy McMillian, who was originally from Nome, Alaska.

“Sheriff,” he said, in a deep, somber voice, “there are at least twenty-one human bodies there and probably as many animal bodies, including some that I’ve never seen before.”

“What do you mean by that?” Stilinski asked?

“I mean that there are a couple of animals in that hole that I can’t identify and I don’t think they come from this planet at all,” he replied. “One of them is a short furry thing that looks kind of like a primate….”

“Does it smell really bad?” Carlton asked?

“Does it have short fangs and claws on its hands and feet?” Scott asked, almost at the same time.

“Don’t know about the fangs,” McMillian said, but the claws, definitely; and it smells like the worse horse shit you’ve ever gotten a whiff of.” He wrinkled his nose and made a face when he said it.

“Sounds like a goblin,” Carlton said.

“A goblin?” McMillian said, raising an eyebrow, “like the one you guys caught the other day?”

“Definitely sounds like it,” Carlton replied. “We’ll have to see it to be sure, but I’m guessing it is.”

McMillian nodded, somberly.

“What’s the other one look like,” Stilinski asked.

McMillian shook his head and blew out a breath that Dylan thought was a sign of frustration. “Some kind of dog-thing,” he replied. “But it’s at least twice as big as any dog I’ve ever seen and it has wicked sharp-looking claws. It’s white, except for its ears. Those are red. And, speaking of red, I thought I saw something odd about its eyes, so I opened its eyelids and damn, if its eyes weren’t glowing red, too.

“Huh,” Stilinski said, rubbing his chin with his hand, “that’s odd… definitely not from around here.”

McMillian nodded, “I should know more, when I get it back to the lab. The humans will go to the county morgue for autopsies. Given the ‘special nature of the case, I’ve already called Dr. Fenris and his team to conduct them,’ but we can do what we want with the animals. I suggest having Deaton do necropsies on them.”

“Necropsies?” Dylan asked.

“Yea,” McMillian said, “that’s an autopsy done on an animal.”

“Oh,” Dylan replied. He hadn’t known they were called something other than autopsies. Well, live and learn.

In an hour, deputies and crime scene techs were hauling bodies out of the hole. Packaged in zipped-up body bags and neatly labeled, they were then whisked away to the morgue, where Doctor Fenris and his staff would be waiting for them.

“Well,” McMillian said, standing by watching the bodies, “I’m not a medical examiner, but my guess is that Fenris and Deaton will say that all of them, except the goblin and the dog, died from single wounds to the chest and were then dumped into the hole. My personal guess, based on decomposition, is that the sacrifices, if that’s what they really were, took place over a period of a month or so, and ended about three or four days ago.”

“About the time that Stiles and I got switched,” Dylan said, taking a sip of coffee. It was his third cup and he was beginning to feel the effects of a massive caffeine surge.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Stilinski said, “finish the sacrifices and the portal is open for business. You said that the goblin and dog died differently,” Stilinski continued, circling back to one of McMillian’s other comments. “What did you mean?”

“It was more like they died fighting something,” McMillian said. “They both had various stab wounds and hack marks on them, mostly on the head and shoulders, though some to the torso. That’s more like stuff I saw when I worked a summer in Britain on an archaeology dig, during college. The site was a burial ground for soldiers killed in a nearby battle. They had similar sword and axe wounds, as well as damage from being whacked by maces and other blunt instruments. The goblin, especially, looked less like he was sacrificed and more like he went down fighting. I think there may even be some tissue from whomever he was fighting under his claws. So, you will want to have Deaton check about that.”

“I will,” Stilinski said.

It was Dylan who heard it first. His back was to the nemeton and he had been focused on what Stilinski and McMillian were saying. Then, he slowly became aware of a sound behind him that was almost, but not quite, like the crackling of a fire or someone crinkling cellophane. He turned just in time to see a goblin materialize on top of the nemeton.

“Guys!” he shouted, backing away as fast as he could, “we’ve got company!” The others looked up, to see the creature jump down from the nemeton and howl. It was a long, excited howl, like the creature had discovered the most important thing in the world. When it turned its glowing, putrid yellow eyes on him, Dylan realized with horror that he was the thing the creature was so excited about.

He heard Stilinski shout, “Dylan, get back!” just as half a dozen cops opened fire with pistols and at least one shotgun. The goblin’s body reacted to the punch of multiple bullet strikes, but it hardly phased it. The wounds seemed to close as soon as the bullets struck it. The goblin never took its eyes off Dylan as it started to advanced, growling and snapping its teeth. To Dylan, it seemed like the creature had only one thought in mind, to turn him into dinner. It was even salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs – stringy, thick drool dripping from its mouth.

Then, it stopped, sniffed the air and turned to its right, where deputy Reeves had just run up holding a double-barrel shotgun. Spotting Reeves, it gave what Dylan could only describe as a howl of glee, turned and ran toward the deputy at full speed. Reeves raised his shotgun and emptied both barrels into the creature. To Dylan’s surprised the goblin reeled back, howling in agony and staggering at the blow. Reeves quickly reloaded and fired another blast into it. The creature shrieked, pivoted, as if trying to turn and run, but instead collapsed onto the ground, where it lay twitching. As it fell, Dylan saw a gaping, bloody wound in its chest.

Reeves walked up to it, placed the reloaded shotgun to the back of its head and pulled the trigger. The creature’s skull shattered into fragments, brains, blood, and bone spraying everywhere. Dylan turned away, afraid he was going to be sick, again.

“What the hell was that?” Stilinski asked, sounding surprised.

“Iron,” Reeves replied, “after I was attacked, I did some research. Fairies and a lot of the creatures connected to them, hate iron. It’s like a poison to them. So, I replaced the led pellets in some of my shotgun shells with iron ones.” He looked down at the goblin’s lifeless body, nudged it with his foot, then added, “It seems to have worked.”

“Son,” Stilinski said, smiling and clapping Reeves on the back, “I think you may have solved our goblin problem.”

At that moment, there was a flash of light, and three figures appeared beside the nemeton. The cops all raised their weapons, expecting another attack, then Stilinski went wide-eyed and shouted, “Hold your fire! They’re on our side!” Guns were lowered, as Silveron and two other Fay stepped forward, surveying the scene. Smiling, wryly, Silveron said, “My dear shire-reeve, we came to help you, but it appears you do not require our assistance.”

“Deputy Reeves, here,” Stilinski replied, indicating Reeves, “figured out that goblins don’t like iron.”

“A very intelligent assessment, deputy,” Silveron said, approaching Reeves and offering his hand. As Reeves shook it, Silveron’s expression changed to one of puzzlement. He pulled Reeves closer and sniffed him.

“Whoa, dude, hold on a minute,” Reeves said backing away. “What was that for?”

“Tell me,” Silveron said, ignoring Reeves’ question, “did the goblin seek you out to attack, above all others present?”

“What?” Reeves asked.

“Did it focus on you, even when there were other humans closer to hand?” Silveron said, rephrasing the question.

“Yes, it did,” Stilinski said, eyeing Silveron. “It started to go after Dylan, but as soon as Reeves ran up, it turned toward him, completely ignoring Dylan. Do you know why?”

“Yes,” Silveron said, smiling, “goblins love to dine on human flesh, but even more than humans, they love to dine on Fay. They also hate us with a passion, which, I must admit, is reciprocated on our part. Your young deputy has Fay blood – not huge amounts, perhaps his grandmother or great-grandmother was Fay, but definitely enough for a goblin to tell the difference.”

“Was that why the goblin a few days ago focused on him so heavily, even when there were other humans closer?” Carlton asked, coming up and putting an arm around Reeves, who Dylan thought was looking a little pale.

“Absolutely,” Silveron replied, “they will go after Fay ahead of all others.”

“And they don’t seem to like werewolves at all,” Scott said, joining the conversation.

“Truly, young alpha,” Silveron said, laughing, “the flesh of were-creatures is repugnant to them.”

“I like that idea,” Carlton said, smiling at Scott. At least we won’t be on the menu, right?”

“Right,” Scott said, returning the smile.

“You say that deputy Reeves here has Fay blood,” Stilinski said, frowning, “enough to use magic effectively?”

“Yes,” Silveron replied, “not as well as we who are full Fay, but certainly they can be very adept at the magical arts… far more than most humans.”

“Sheriff, surely you’re not thinking what I think you are?” Carlton said, drawing Reeves closer, protectively.

Stilinski raised his hand in a demand for silence. “Could someone like that… like Reeves, have done all of this?” he waved his hand to indicate the nemeton and the pit of bodies.

Reeves sucked in a breath. Dylan saw him look at Carlton with an expression of surprise and fear.

Silveron bowed his head for a moment, in thought, then said, “It’s entirely possible, though I sense no indication of his having that level of magic about him. Most Fay, myself included, are highly sensitive to magic. The magic of this place pulsates with great intensity. It has known magic for a very long time. The Europeans who came here two centuries ago brought their own, while the native American people called this place sacred for millennia before that. I can sense that over the whole layer of human magic a very powerful layer of Fay magic has been lain, and that this was done very recently.” He turned to look at Reeves, then added, “Yet, I sense no magic in him other than the slight residue that all mortals with Fay blood possess.”

He turned back to Stilinski. “Still, magic can be hidden and anyone who is capable of magic such as this,” he said, indicating the nemeton, “is capable of hiding their own magic quite effectively. So, make of that what you will.”

“In other words, you don’t think so, but you can’t be sure,” Dylan said, summing up Silveron’s long-winded answer.

“Precisely,” Silveron replied.

Everyone turned and looked at Reeves, who responded with a sad and worried frown, before turning and burying his face in Carlton’s shoulder.


	23. Premiere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Britt get ready for a premiere, Derek shows up, and they all to the premiere, where they meet an uninvited guest. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy. There will be more Derek and Stiles in the next chapter.

It was four in the afternoon and he was shaving. Who shaves at four in the afternoon? Stiles considered this as he raked the razor across his face. It had been Britt’s idea. “You don’t want to look like you’ve got five-o’clock shadow when you walk down the red carpet, do you?” she had asked. No, of course he didn’t. Not for his first Hollywood premiere. Even if it were a small, independent film, he needed to look his best, and not just for Dylan’s sake. He realized as he raked the razor across another patch of his face that he had begun to take a much greater pride in his appearance since he started acting. After all, his face was a movie star’s face. The name associated with it in this world happened to be Dylan O’Brien rather than Stiles Stilinski, but it was his face all-the-same.

Thus, Stiles was not entirely unhappy to be standing in front of a mirror at four in the afternoon, in Dylan’s hall bathroom, still damp from a shower, shaving.

The week had gone by quickly. They had been working long hours, attempting to catch up with filming before Friday hit, bringing Banshee Con with it, and filming largely ceased for three days while most of the cast and crew attended the event. Now, it was Thursday, and time for Stiles to keep the promise to attend this premiere, that he had made to Britt during the mayhem of Monday night.

He was wondering what a Hollywood premiere would be like, when a sudden crash from the master bathroom jerked him out of his reverie. The crash was followed by Britt screaming at the top of her lungs, which was then followed by a male voice screaming at the top of his lungs. Stiles dropped the razor, wrapped a towel around his middle, and ran for the master bath.

He burst into the room to find Britt jabbing a curling iron toward a naked, dripping wet, Tyler Hoechlin. The curling iron looked like a dagger, the way Britt was wielding it.

“Stay back, whoever you are!” she shouted at him.

“Just calm down, lady,” he replied. Then seeing Stiles, he said, “Thank God! Dylan, is that you?”

“Stiles?” Stiles replied, slowly, almost as if it were a question, not sure how much he should reveal. It was dawning on him that this might not be Hoechlin. “Derek, is that you?’

“Yes!” he shouted in reply, “Thank God you're back in our universe, Stiles, but who the hell is this chick with the curling iron?”

“That’s Britt Robertson,” Stiles replied. “She lives here with Dylan. He’s her boyfriend.”

“Oh, shit,” Derek said, wide-eyed, “so, you’re not back in our universe, we’re both in theirs?”

“Pretty much,” Stiles said. Then, deciding to do the honorable thing, even though a naked Derek Hale was mighty easy on the eyes, he reached for a towel from one of the towel racks and added, “Care for one of these?” Derek grabbed the towel and covered up.

 === ===

“If you’re here,” Britt said, looking worried, “does that mean that Tyler Hoechlin is in your universe?” They had moved the conversation to the study. Derek was still wrapped in the towel Stiles had given him, while Stiles had thrown on a pair of sweatpants.

“He’s the guy who looks like me in this universe?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Stiles replied.

“I don’t know, but probably,” Derek replied. “I mean, that’s how it works isn’t it?”

“Seems so,” Stiles responded. “Maybe, I should call Dylan and ask him to check on Hoechlin.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Britt replied.

Stiles pulled out Dylan’s phone and punched in his own cell phone number. Thanks to the magic of fairies, two rings latter and Dylan answered.

“Stiles?” he asked.

“Hi Dylan,” Stiles said. “Sorry to bother you, but Derek Hale just appeared in Britt’s bathroom and we were wondering if you guys had Tyler Hoechlin over there.”

“Shit,” Dylan said, “hang on.” Stiles could hear voices on the other end, as Dylan talked with someone who sounded a lot like Scott. Finally, Dylan said, “Scott just called Derek’s cell phone, and Hoechlin answered, so yea, we have him over here.”

“Great,” Stiles said, “at least we know where everyone is. Here, say hi to Britt while we have you on the phone.”

Stiles handed Britt the phone. It was something they did regularly, since getting the inter-universe connection, thanks to Silveron and the fairies. Dylan got to talk to Britt, and Stiles spoke with Malia and his dad. It gave everyone a sense of comfort, speaking to their loved ones, and they were all thankful for it.

Finally, Britt returned the phone to Stiles, who, after some brief arrangements for the next call, hung up, and conversation returned to the pressing matters at hand.

“You’ll need to come with us to the premiere tonight,” Britt said to Derek.

“Uh, I’m not exactly dressed for it,” Derek said, indicating his current attire.

“When I called Jeff about getting you some clothes sent over, I specifically included a request for a tuxedo and dress shoes,” Britt said. “So, you should have proper attire shortly.”

“Why should I go to a premiere,” Derek asked, in his best sourwolf voice. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we have more important things to do than attend premieres.”

“Because, dumbass, Hoechlin is in that movie,” Britt said, glaring at him. “He has a really good reputation in this town, and you don’t need to ruin it for him by flaking out on it.”

“Oh,” Derek said. He thought for a long moment, as if trying to think of some counter to her argument. Finally, he said, “well, I suppose I can help with that.”

“Thanks,” she and Stiles said at the same time.

Derek looked at Stiles questioningly.

“What,” Stiles said, uncomfortably, “I’m trying to help out here, Derek. Half their cast is in our world and they need us to help keep things together over here until Deaton and that fairy guy can figure out how to get things back to normal, okay?”

“I didn’t say a word,” Derek said, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender.

“Yea, but you thought it,” Stiles replied, staring at him with narrowed eyes. “I saw the look in those beady little werewolf eyes.”

“Stiles, be nice,” Britt scolded. “Derek has agreed to help us out. We should cut him a break. After all, he just got plopped down in the middle of a strange universe. Remember how it was for you? I bet you wouldn’t have felt particularly like going to a premiere your first night here, either.”

“Wow,” Stiles said, truly puzzled, “you did an about-face on Derek. A few minutes ago, you were freaking out and trying to attack him with a curling iron.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, smiling and shaking his head, “she suddenly had a naked man in her bathroom. I’m not going to blame her for freaking out.”

“Yea,” Britt said, “I’m over it now.” She thought for a moment and added, “though I do wonder why the universe keeps dropping naked men into my bathroom. Of course, I probably shouldn’t complain. After all, I think most woman would love for naked, good looking men to keep appearing in their bathrooms.” She smiled a thoroughly wicked smile and eyed Derek, who blushed and looked uncomfortable.

The clothing Britt requested for Derek arrived and soon they were all dressed and on their way to the premiere in the back of a rented limo. Stiles had decided to go old-school, eschewing the trendy outfit that Dylan’s stylist had sent over in favor of a traditional tux, complete with bowtie and cummerbund. Britt was dressed in a slim black floor-length dress, with red earrings, and a small, matching red clutch.

All the way to the premiere, Stiles forced Derek to watch videos of Tyler Hoechlin to give him a sense of how the man behaved and carried himself, and to provide him with as much background information as possible.

“…and remember, Hoechlin is not a series regular this season, so just say that you’re spending your time going to auditions, but don’t have anything firm, yet,” Stiles said, fidgeting. He wasn’t sure this was really going to work. He eyed Derek and chewed at his nails.

“You just need to relax, Stiles,” Derek said, giving him a wolf stare that would have melted hardened steel. “Just because you’re nervous doesn’t mean you have to drive the rest of us nuts. I’ve got this. Take a deep breath and try to chill out.”

“Nervous,” Stiles said, continuing to fidget, despite his best efforts to stop, “I’m not nervous. Who said I was nervous. I’m calm… really calm. I don’t see why you’d think I was nervous.”

Derek and Britt looked at one another and smiled. Brit placed one elegantly manicured finger on Stiles’ lips and shushed him. “Relax,” she said, “it’s pretty standard to be nervous as hell for your first premiere. There’s nothing to worry about. Just walk down the carpet with me, do what I do, and generally follow my lead. There’s nothing to it. So, just chill and enjoy it. It’s actually a fun experience if you’re not acting like your about to explode.”

“Yea,” Derek chimed in, “we don’t need an exploding Stiles, so just relax.”

“Okay… okay… yea… I’ll try,” Stiles said, feeling anything but chill. Here he was, in a limo on his way to his first movie premiere, and yea, it was a small indie film, but he had no idea what he was doing and he needed to pretend to be Dylan at the same time he was answering questions and posing for pictures. He had to admit, to himself at least, that he was a bit overwhelmed.

“Hey,” he said, eyeing Derek, “you’ve never been to a premiere either, so how are you so chill about it.

Derek laughed. “It’s just a lark to me,” he said. “Yea, I want to help this Hoechlin guy out, but to me it’s just a nice evening and a free movie. “I’m not tied to it, so I can just sit back and enjoy it. You should be the same way.”

“Yea, true,” Stiles said. He wondered why he couldn’t. Maybe, because he was getting into this whole acting thing and he felt like maybe he could make a career of it, himself. Of course, who would want to hire him… pathetic Stiles… class clown and general nobody. He mentally kicked himself. He needed to do away with the self-loathing. He was worthy and he was going to prove that tonight.

=== ===

“Dylan, over here… look right,” the photographer shouted.

“Look left… look left… another yelled.

Stiles tried to oblige them. He had seen actors on red carpets before, thanks to television, so he stopped, looked right in what he thought was a good pose, then turned to the left in another pose.

“Very impressive,” Britt said, smiling at him, “you’d think you were an old pro at this.”

“Giving it a good try, anyway,” he said, winking at her. Behind them, Derek followed, scowling his way down the red carpet.

“Dylan, can you give us an interview?” a young man asked, coming up to Stiles. “We’re with Hollywood Online.”

“Sure,” he replied. Britt winked back at Stiles as the young man led him aside to where a woman with a microphone and a cameraman stood.

“We’re here with Dylan O’Brien, star of _Teen Wolf_ and The _Maze Runner_ movies, she intoned into the mic, a broad smile on her face. “So, Dylan, can you tell us any spoilers about season five of _Teen Wolf_?”

“Oh, you know I can’t do that,” Stiles said, laughing, “Jeff would kill me.” He thought for a minute and then added, “there’s a lot of action, a lot of Lydia, and a lot of monsters.”

“Do we find out what Parrish is this season?” she asked.

“I certainly hope so,” Stiles replied, seriously. God, he really hoped they would. Maybe Jeff would tell him so he could go back and tell Parish.

“You mean you don’t know yet?” she asked.

“Nope, there’s been no word of that in any of the scripts I’ve read,” Stiles said, truthfully.

“What about Tyler Hoechlin leaving the show?” she continued. “Does this put an end to Sterek or was that never really a thing to begin with?”

There was that word again. He wished someone would tell him what it meant. Maybe he could google it or something. That didn’t help now, though. The woman and her cameraman were waiting for a response and he was standing there gawking at them.

“Uh…,” he began, “I… uh….” This was not going well, he thought. How could he answer their question, when he didn’t know what their question meant? Then he realized there was a way out that let him give an answer, but skirt his lack of knowledge about this “Sterek” thing. He said, “Well, Hoechlin hasn’t really left the show. He’s just become a recurring character. I’ve had a few scenes with him, so that counts for something, right?”

“Uh… sure…,” the woman said. Clearly, this was not the answer she had expected. “Well, so he is in the season, then?”

“A little, yea,” Stiles said, “and I absolutely wish him the best of luck with all the auditioning he’s doing.”

“Cool,” she said. “Then she got a sly smile on her face and added, “Speaking of auditioning, I just can’t resist asking this. Have you heard anything about Spiderman, yet?”

Wow, Stiles thought, Dylan had been right, someone did ask that question.

“I haven’t heard a word about it,” Stiles replied, truthfully. Whatever Dylan had or had not heard about it, Stiles could be totally honest in saying that he hadn’t heard anything. That was clearly the answer she had expected.

Then, she surprised him again by asking, “Is it a role that you really want to play?”

“Sure,” he replied without thinking, smiling at how ridiculous the question was. Then he realized that he would give his right arm to play a role like that. Had he become an actor in the last few days? Had he discovered his calling in life? He had always figured he’d follow his dad into law enforcement, but now…. To the interviewer, he said, “I think any actor my age would love to have a crack at that role, but, like I said, I haven’t heard a word.”

“Well, thanks so much for talking with us, Dylan, and we all wish you the best for season five of _Teen Wolf_ ,” she said.

“Thanks,” he replied, and moved on.

It was like that all along the red carpet. By the time they reached the theater door and the safety of the lobby, he had answered probably three dozen questions, all some variation of these. Jeez, why did people have to repeat each other’s questions, most of which were lame anyway?

None-the-less, Stiles was happy to go through the gauntlet of reporters and cameras without major incident and walk through the big double doors of the theater. He gazed at the sight around him in amazement, but it wasn’t the room filled with celebrities that caught his eye, nor the posters for the movie, scattered about the room, as large as life. It was the décor. For a moment, he thought that one of the fairies had decided he looked better back in the 1920s, and had sent him back to a premiere from the days of silent film, or something. This place was straight out of a prohibition-era picture book. Done in an art deco style, resplendent with chrome finishes and mechanical themes, the theater was a beautifully preserved example of that era known as The Machine Age. Two stylized angels with their wings swept back, guarded the entrance to the auditorium proper, while stylized gear motifs were emblazoned on the wall behind them. To the side of each angel stood six-foot flag poles. The one on the left supported the American Flag, while that on the right supported the California state flag. The whole building looked so Jazz Age… all very F. Scott Fitzgerald. Stiles half expected Leo DiCaprio, dressed as Gatsby, to come walking through the auditorium entrance, a woman on either arm and a martini in hand.

Turning his attention to the expansive (for its time) concession stand, which was located at the back of the lobby, he noticed that it was outlined in blue neon lights… a nineteen-fifties addition? Or was it really twenties? When did they come up with that?

He was musing over this, when Britt walked up from behind and hooked his arm. “You were amazing out there,” she said, smiling broadly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you really were Dylan, and for me to say that, you know you must be good.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, the way a sister might kiss her brother if he did something really special.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, smiling back at her. “I appreciate the compliment. I’ve worked really hard on getting him right.”

“The way you handled those questions was fantastic,” She continued. “Dylan would certainly be proud of you.”

They were smiling at each other when Derek walked up, looking like he was in a particularly sour mood.

“God, how do you stand to do this?” he asked. “Those guys out there are brutal.”

“We get used to it,” Britt said, smiling. “Honestly, I treat it like a job, because that’s what it is to me. When Dylan and I are not out attending premieres or doing interviews, we’re hold up at home, playing with the dogs, watching DVDs and reading books.”

“Yea, if this were my life, I’d have to do something like that, too,” Derek said, shaking his head, “I couldn’t stand to be out like this in crowds all the time. People taking my picture or chasing me down for interviews. I’d go all wolf and slash their throats.” He smiled, sardonically.

Britt snorted. “Trust me, there are times I wish I could do that, myself,” she laughed.

“Well,” what do we do now?” Stiles asked, eyeing the crowd. Not many people seemed to be lining up for drinks and popcorn, but neither were they hurrying to get to seats.

“Well,” Britt said, surveying the scene, “we should mingle, talk with people, see and be seen. That’s the usual drill for these things, then about ten minutes or so before the movie starts, we all get ushered to our seats.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Stiles said, looking around. “Britt, since we’re supposed to be dating, should we hang out together?”

“Yea, that would be the best,” she said. “In fact, I think we should all three stay together as much as we can.” Then addressing Derek, “when they come to seat us, you’ll be down in front with the cast. Dylan and I will be placed farther back.”

“They assign seating for these things?” Derek asked.

“For the cast, definitely,” she said. “For the rest of us, they just generally heard us in by section. The more important celebs will be closer to the front. I suspect that Stiles and I will end up somewhere in the middle.”

Stiles looked around the room while he considered her words. He really liked the art deco design and furnishings. He was looking past a couple of ushers, who guarded the entrance to the auditorium, and into the large and dark room, when something drew his attention. It looked like a big dog, just beyond the open doorway. It was hard to tell amid the darkness and subtle shadows, but it definitely looked like a dog. He was about to decide that he was just seeing things, when the dog, black as night turned toward him and Stiles could see its glowing red eyes. Before he could say anything, it stuck its head out of the door and sank its teeth into one of the unsuspecting ushers, who promptly screamed.

A wave of gasps flowed across the room, as people realized what was going on. Then lobby fell into utter pandemonium. People screamed and started to stampede toward the entrances, which quickly filled and became a bottleneck, as a crush of people tried to get out.

The dog, which looked like an uber-big hound of some sort, was thrashing the poor usher back and forth like a large and particularly tasty chew toy.

Stiles moved in front of Britt to protect her, while Derek jumped in front of Stiles to protect both of them.

The dog, meanwhile tossed the usher aside. He bounced off a wall and lay, unmoving, on the floor. The beast then looked around for its next victim.

Meanwhile, Stiles was frantically casting about for a weapon. Seeing a long-handled broom partially hidden behind a black and gold art deco screen, he grabbed it and broke off the sweeping part to fashion a makeshift spear, with a jagged-point end that he promptly pointed at the hound.

Unimpressed, dog looked like it might have a go at Stiles, but spotted the other usher, who was cowering behind one of the auditorium doors, and went for him instead. As it lunged, both Stiles and Derek stepped in between the dog and its target. Stiles stuck it with the jagged end of the broom handle, while Derek landed a much more effective punch to the creature’s snout. It yelped and jumped back.

“Good punch,” Stiles said.

“Thanks,” Derek replied, “now stay back so you don’t get hurt.”

Meanwhile, the hound appeared to be having some kind of temper tantrum at being thwarted in its desire to rip apart the other usher. It was pawing at the ground like a bull and frothing at the mouth as it shook its massive head from side to side. Then, focusing on Derek it lunged forward again, mouth agape. Stiles thought that it might actually do some damage to Derek. It’s teeth were huge and looked really sharp. He wondered if this would be another case where Derek would save the day, but be horribly injured in the process. At the last moment, however, the hound squealed in agony and crumpled to the floor, where it lay twitching.

Stiles and Derek both looked up in amazement to see Britt standing over the creature, still holding the metal flag pole, the pointy end of which she had plunged into its side. Blood poured from the wound, soaking into the white of the California flag, and Britt looked down on the creature, a satisfied expression on her face. She must have slipped around them while they were occupied with the hound. Finally, she looked up and smiled at them. “It’s made of iron,” she explained, “Dylan told me over the phone that they don’t like iron. It’s like a poison to them.” Stiles and Derek looked at one another, and then Derek, completely out of character for him, began to laugh.


	24. Rifted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek search the auditorium for the source of the creature that attacked them, Margot shows up, and Britt deals with the cops.

“Why are we doing this?” Derek asked, as he and Stiles searched the auditorium.

“Two reasons,” Stiles replied, looking down a long line of seats midway to the front, “first, to make sure there isn’t another one of those things in here. Second, to try and find out where it came from.”

“Didn’t it come through the nemeton?” Derek asked.

“Yea, but I think it’s a little more complicated than that,” Stiles said, moving to another row and gazing along its length. “I think that for someone or something to get from the nemeton to another location, like this auditorium, or Britt’s bathroom, there has to be something else… like a teleportation point or something. Ever since Liam and that hospital schedule showed up in Britt’s bathroom on Monday night, I’ve been wondering what that was, and why that location. I’ve looked and looked, but haven’t found anything at the house, but, now, I have another location and I want to check it to see if I can spot anything.”

“Makes sense,” Derek said, looking down a side row. "So, we’re looking for anything out of the ordinary, right?"

“Yep,” Stiles said, moving to another row, “anything that looks like it doesn’t belong, or that’s strange in any way.”

“So, what do we do if someone comes in?” Derek asked.

“We tell them part of the truth,” Stiles replied. “We say that we’re looking through the auditorium to make sure there isn’t another one of these things to attack anyone.”

“What if they think we’re nuts for being in here without guns or some kind of protection?” Derek asked.

“Easy,” Stiles said, smiling, “they’ll just think we’re a couple of crazy actors trying to be heroes. They’ll scold us and tell us how reckless we’re being and then they’ll let us go.”

Dylan’s cell phone beeped and Stiles pulled it out of his pocket.

“Huh,” Stiles said, reading the text from Dylan.

“What?” Derek asked.

“That picture of the dog I sent to Dylan,” Stiles replied, “he showed it to Deaton. Deaton thinks it’s something called a ‘black hound.’ Apparently, they appear in old European legends, especially ones from the British isles. And guess what kind of supernatural beings they’re associated with?”

“Fairies?” Derek asked.

“Bingo,” Stiles replied. He texted the word “thanks” back to Dylan and returned the cell phone to his pocket.

“How long do you think Britt can occupy the authorities?” Stiles asked. That was his one worry. He didn’t mind getting caught, only that they would be interrupted before they could finish their search.”

“Probably awhile,” Derek replied. "Not only will they need to talk with Britt, but they have a lobby full of actors and film industry types who are completely panicked. It will take them a lot of time to get all those guys calmed downed.”

Stiles nodded and looked up, trying to decide where to search next. It was then that he saw it – a faint shimmer in the air, just inside one of the short hallways that lead to the emergency exits.

“What is that?” he said, moving toward the shimmer.

“What?” Derek asked.

“Something’s shimmering in that hallway,” Stiles replied. “Do you see it?”

Stiles and Derek moved closer to the hall.

“Now, I do,” Derek said. “What the hell is that?”

“Don’t know,” Stiles said. He pulled out Dylan’s phone and used it to light the hallway. The dim light revealed an area about four feet by five feet that was pitch black except that it gave off an intermittent shimmer in the blackness. Its edges were ragged and it seemed to float in the middle of the hallway, as if suspended from invisible strings.

“What on earth is that?” Stiles wondered.

“Nothing good, I’ll bet,” Derek replied. “Do you have any spare change?”

“Derek!” Stiles scolded, “we’re in the middle of investigating a monster and you want spare change?”

Derek looked at him hard. “I want it to test that thing, you dimwit,” he said, indicating the black patch.

“Oh, okay… okay…,” Stiles said, digging into his pocket and pulling out a nickel.

Derek took the nickel and tossed it into the black patch. There was a bright flash of light and the nickel disappeared into the blackness.

“Wow,” Stiles said, surprised, “I think Deaton and the others need to see this.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out some more change, which he handed to Derek, then, he used Dylan’s cell phone to film the black patch, while Derek tossed coins into it.

Stiles sent the video to Dylan. He then turned to Derek and asked, “Well, what do we do now?”

“What do you mean?” Derek replied, raising an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure that black patch is where that hound thing came from.”

“Yea, but we can’t just let people get in here now… not with that thing still here,” he said, pointing at the black, shimmering mass.

“Do we know it’s dangerous?” Derek asked.

“Trust me, Derek,” Stiles said, incredulous that Derek, of all people, would be that naïve, “if it’s spitting out black hounds, then YES, it’s dangerous.”

“How do we know?” Derek asked. “Maybe it only had one black hound and now it’s inert or something. I wonder what happens if we touch it?” He moved forward and stretched out his hand toward the darkness.

“That would be a very bad idea, Mr. Hale,” a soft, feminine voice said from just behind him.

Derek and Stiles both whirled around simultaneously to see who was speaking. Not three feet from them stood a petite young woman in her early twenties, who couldn’t have stood more than four-feet-six-inches. She had long black hair, incredible black eyes and was dressed in a flowing blue floor-length evening dress that Stiles noted looked remarkably good on her.

“Who the hell are you?” they both asked at once.

“I’m Margot,” the woman replied in a soft, almost sing-song voice, “Silveron sent me.”

“How did you get in here, past all of the security and police and all?” Stiles asked, amazed. Even if it weren’t for the security associated with the premiere, the police now had the whole place locked down and cordoned off.

“Magic,” she replied, “a simple invisibility spell.”

“You can make yourself invisible?” Stiles asked, amazed.

“Not like Harry Potter, Mr. Stilinski,” She replied, laughing. Her laugh sounded soft and pleasant, like it would lull him to sleep, if he only let it. “An invisibility spell in the real world merely makes sure that people don’t notice you. They may look straight at you, but they just don’t see you.”

“Neat trick,” Stiles said, then gesturing toward the black mass he continued, “do you know what that thing is?”

“That, is a dimensional rift,” Margot said, looking at it more closely. “It’s one of the results of a breakdown in the fabric of time and space. At any one moment, it is connecting this universe to a dozen others and to the void in between. It’s deadly to most creatures. Some, however, such as that black hound your friend dispatched out there, travel along them—use them to hop between worlds and dimensions.”

“So, if Derek had touched that?” Stiles asked.

“Best case scenario, he would have been sucked into some other universe somewhere,” she said, eyeing Derek. “Worst case, he would have been ripped to pieces and scattered between a dozen different universes, or spit out into the void between universes.”

“Well,” Stiles said, giving Derek an “I told you so” look, “good thing you showed up.”

“Is this rift thing being used by whomever is swapping people between universes to transport us to where he… or she wants us?” Derek asked.

“No,” Margot replied, “whoever is doing that is using a portal of some kind. This is caused by the fabric of time and space becoming fractured, due to the worlds being merged. It basically means that things are moving along toward a permanent rupture that would be devastating to our two universes and would totally destroy the universe of the Fay.”

“Whoa, you’re saying that this wasn’t deliberate, but just a side effect?” Stiles asked, his eyes going wide in disbelief.

“Unless,” Margot said, considering the rift like a bad blemish, “that was the intention all along.”

“Huh?” Stiles asked, but Derek was ahead of him.

“They’re trying to destroy the fairy universe, and this is the way they’re doing it,” Derek said, a look of enlightenment on his face.

“I’m not following,” Stiles said, not at all understanding what they were getting at.

“They’ve created a conduit through the two universes and routed it through the Fay universe,” Margot said, a sad look on her face. “They didn’t have to do that. They could have just connected your two universes and been done. Why did they?”

“They thought it looked good that way?” Stiles replied, not sure he should be making witty replies in these circumstances, but not being able to avoid his nature. “Okay, why?”

Because that connection was important,” Derek said. Margot pointed at him and nodded.

“Yes, the Fay universe had to be involved in their plan,” she continued. “It’s a very delicate thing, the realm of the Fay. It’s purely a realm of spiritual beings. Yes, they can take corporeal form if necessary, but it’s not something they desire to do, nor can they keep it up for a considerable length of time, unless they are in possession of a mortal body.”

“What! Wait a minute,” Stiles said, “you mean, like possessed, possessed—as in The Exorcist typed possessed?”

“Yes,” Margot replied, “or like the nogitsune did to you?”

Stiles flinched, while Derek raised an eyebrow at her.

“What?” she asked, looking at Derek, “I’m a big fan of the show.”

“You might be a little more sensitive,” Derek whispered, though Stiles could still hear him. When she looked questioningly at him, he added, “It really happened to him. For him, it wasn’t a show.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes becoming sad as full realization finally dawned on her, while Stiles stood there, uncomfortable and trying to pretend that he wasn’t hearing everything that was being said. “I’m so sorry,” she added, after an awkward moment. “I just forgot that you guys are real.”

“Yea,” Stiles said, forcing a smile, “real people here. Cut us and we bleed. Possess us, and we have terrible memories of doing horrible things to our friends and fucking liking it.”

“I’m truly sorry,” Margot said, “but to continue my point, they may be totally aware of what’s going on and understand it, but not be able to do anything to stop it.”

“Yep, I can relate to that,” Stiles said, squirming at the memories.

“Why would a fairy want to destroy its own universe?” Derek asked, looking at Margot.

“Wonderful question,” Margot replied. “I asked Silveron that question, myself. He doesn’t know. None of them do, just that all of this magic 'smells' of Fay work, and not just humans doing Fay work either, but full-on Fay. They’re looking into it, but nothing as yet.”

“What do we do about this thing?” Derek asked. “We can’t just leave it here for some poor, unsuspecting person to walk into.”

“We close it,” She replied. Derek looked at her, questioningly.

“Stand back,” Margot said, sweeping her arms in a clearing gesture. They stepped back behind her, as she pulled a couple of bags from her purse. She took from one bag what looked to Stiles like a dried leafy substance and from the other ground up bits of brownish rock. She rubbed these together in her hands while chanting in a language that Stiles didn’t recognized, but that was filled with consonant sounds and long, flowing, sing-song syllables. After a moment of this, she threw the substance into the blackness and shouted what sounded to Stiles like, “in ki lay see lee oh!” The blackness shuddered, drew in on itself, and then vanished with a pop.

“What did you say to it?” Stiles asked, really curious about how she managed to close a rift in time and space so quickly, and apparently so easily.

“I used magic,” Margot said, "along with some Coastal Sage and Myrrh resin. Then I spoke to it in Welsh and told it to be sealed.

“That was amazing,” Stiles replied, “I didn’t know it would be that easy to close.”

She looked at him like he’d just let all of the prisoners out of his father’s jail or something. “Trust me, Stiles, that was not easy,” she said, fixing him with her stare. “That kind of magic has taken me 20 years of studying every day to master.”

“How old are you?” Stiles asked, surprised. He didn’t think she could be that old. She only looked 24 or so.

“Twenty-six,” she replied.

“You’ve been studying magic since you were six years old?” Stiles asked.

“Yes,” Margot replied, “and the kind of energy I had to draw down to close that rift was massive. I may not look tired, but I am. It will take me a whole day to recover enough to do that again, so we need to determine who is causing this and stop them before it gets any worse.”

“Any ideas how?” Derek asked.

“Not yet,” she said, a frustrated look crossing her delicate features, while one finger curled a strand of her long dark hair, “but I’m working on it. I’ll come to the studio and talk with you and Jeff about that tomorrow.”

“Actually, we’ll all be at Banshee Con tomorrow,” Stiles said.

"In that case, I’ll come there,” she replied. “Make sure Jeff is expecting me and can get me in, okay?”

“Will do,” Stiles replied. Looking around at the empty auditorium, he added, “so now what do we do?”

“I suggest that we return to the lobby and pretend to be as shell-shocked as the rest of the crowd,” she replied. Taking Derek’s arm, she said to him, “I need a cover for this evening. I’m your date, alright?”

“Okay,” Derek said, “you're my date for the evening.” Margot smiled a broad, satisfied smile. For some reason he could not quite identify, this irritated Stiles. Derek shouldn’t be enjoying this, not when there was so much going on—so much at stake.

The three walked back out to the lobby and slipped in among the other guests, standing near Britt, who was still trying to convince an LAPD cop that she had skewered the hound with the flagpole. “Honestly, lady,” the cop said, looking down at the large iron pole still sticking out from the beast’s side, “I don’t believe you’re strong enough to even lift that thing.”

Stiles saw her as she rolled her eyes. She held up one petite index finger to gesture “hold on” and walked casually around the body of the hound to the other flagpole. Placing her foot on the base, she hefted the pole off it and brandished it about, the American flag flapping as she did so. She then put it back on the base, turned to the cop and said in her best Southern accent, “Honey, I’m a Southern girl and trust me, we don’t mess around.”


	25. An Interlude... with Spoons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a little something for the Sterek shippers out there. :)
> 
> Saturday evening (April 18): I edited the chapter to correct a few typos in the last third of the chapter and changed some things to make it a little more intense. I hope you enjoy. :)

“Those are nice pajamas,” Stiles said, eyeing Derek as he walked out of Dylan’s hall bathroom. “Did Jeff send those over, too?”

“Yea, they’re silk” Derek replied, flexing his muscular frame to check how they fit. “Plenty of room to move around in.”

“Silk, really?” Stiles said. “Jeff and the Teen Wolf crew sent you blue silk PJs, oh how sweet.”

“Royal blue, according to the label,” Derek replied, smiling, “and they’re fire retardant, too.” He considered for a moment and added, “I wonder why they thought I needed fire retardant pajamas. Oh well, whatever.”

He turned and headed toward the living room.

“Where are you going?” Stiles asked, frowning.

“I figured I’d crash on the couch in the study,” he replied.

“You don’t have to do that, man,” Stiles said, incensed that Derek thought they’d make him sleep on the couch. “Stay with me in my room.”

“That would be imposing,” Derek said, looking at Stiles with translucent green eyes. Stiles wondered how someone could have eyes that glimmered with such depth.

“Uh… wha… what? No, that wouldn’t be imposing,” Stiles replied. “I mean, dude, if holding up your werewolf ass in an eight-foot swimming pool for two hours, while it’s being circled by a kanima, wasn’t imposing, this certainly isn’t. So come on, and let’s go to sleep.” He turned and walked back toward his bedroom. He was pleased to see that Derek followed.

Stiles walked into the bedroom and crossed to the opposite side of the bed. He turned, just in time to see Derek’s chest muscles flex as he pulled the pajama top over his head to reveal his naked upper torso. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, indicating the shirt, as he lay it over a chair. “It’s just too hot for silk pajama tops.” Stiles saw that he was, indeed, slightly sweating, and suddenly realized that he was staring at the man with his mouth half opened.

He snapped it shut and replied, “N… no, not at all.” He was starting to sweat a little himself. He fanned himself. It was definitely getting hot in here. “Yea, I hadn’t noticed before, but it is hot. Damn!” He took off his own pajama top and tossed it on the same chair as Derek’s.

The two slid into bed together.

=== ===

Thirty minutes later and Stiles still couldn’t get comfortable.

“Stiles, what the hell is the problem,” Derek finally said, turning over to face him, an obvious look of frustration on his face.

“I usually sleep in the middle of the bed,” Stiles said, sadly. “It’s so hard for me to change habits when it comes to sleeping.”

Derek considered. “Okay,” he said, turning back away from Stiles, “lie down just behind me and drape your arm under my head.”

“You mean… like… spoon?” Stiles asked, shocked.

“What’s wrong,” Derek asked, smiling at Stiles so that Stiles could see his teeth, “afraid that the big bad wolf might bite?”

“Oh, hell no,” Stiles replied. “It’s just that Malia and I tried that and….”

“She bit you?” Derek asked, and it sounded like he was half serious.

“No… no, she didn’t bite me,” Stiles replied. “My arm fell asleep.

“Well, how do the two of you sleep together?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles sighed. “Here,” he said, “lie down facing me.” Derek obeyed. Stiles lay with his back to him so that Derek was the big spoon and he the little spoon. He then reached back and pulled Derek’s arm around to wrap about his middle.

“That’s how we do it,” he said.

“That works, too,” Derek replied, drawing Stiles in closer.

Stiles lay with Derek’s muscular chest against his back, holding on to the arm that was wrapped around his middle. He sighed, contented.

“Why the sigh?” Derek asked.

“It’s just…,” Stiles began, “just that….”

“What?” Derek asked. Stiles could feel Derek's hot breath, clean and fresh, on the back of his neck.

“I haven’t really felt safe since I arrived in this universe,” Stiles admitted. “But, now, with you here, I do.  He took in a deep breath and as he let it out, said in a breathy voice that was almost a whisper, “It’s a wonderful feeling. Thank you so much for giving me that.”

Derek didn’t say anything.

“Derek?” Stiles asked.

After a long moment, Stiles felt Derek’s lips place a long, slow kiss on the back of his neck. “You never need to worry about feeling safe while I’m here,” Derek said in what Stiles thought was a choked voice.

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered, and he drifted off into the first good night’s sleep he’d had since Monday morning, when he had woken in his own bed.


	26. Administrtative Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan and the pack come to the sheriff's office to ask for an update on the case. They all end up with a surprise visitor.
> 
> In the next chapter, we will be back with Stiles, Derek, and the Teen Wolf cast at Banshee Con.

Dylan walked into the bullpen of the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s office. Ben Reeves was manning the desk nearest the door. There were a couple of civilians seated in front of his desk and several more scattered around the room with other officers. As he walked by, Dylan said to Reeves, in his best Stiles imitation, “Officer Reeves, my dad’s in his office, right?”

“Yea, Stiles, he’s there,” Reeves replied. It was a pretense they had to keep up. No one who was not part of the pack or the SCAPE team could know that he wasn’t really Stiles. As he crossed behind Reeves, headed for the Sheriff’s door, the officer turned and added, hopefully, “You will talk to your dad about that thing we discussed, right?”

“Absolutely,” Dylan replied, “I definitely will.” Reeves smiled and Dylan continued on his way. Reeves was stuck on administrative leave indefinitely, because Stilinski was afraid that he might be one of the Fay causing the portal that was being used to swap people between universes. Dylan didn’t realistically think that Reeves was the Fay. He thought that whoever was doing it would be a lot more careful than that, but neither could he blame Stilinski for being cautious. None-the-less, he had agreed to talk with Stilinski on Reeves’ behalf to try and get the sheriff to reinstate him to active duty, even if it was on the proviso that officer Carlton would always be with him.

Dylan stopped at Stilinski’s office door and rapped, gently. After a moment, the sheriff replied, “Come in.”

Dylan opened the door and entered, to see him standing in front of his desk, shaking hands with an older, mostly bald gentleman, who was wearing horned rim glasses and a crumpled plaid suit that made him look like an old-timey vacuum cleaner salesman. “Thank you for your insights, doctor Morton,” Stilinski said.

“I wish I could give you more,” the man said, a grim expression on his face. He shook his head, picked up his briefcase, and giving Dylan a slight node walked out of the office.

“Who was that?” Dylan asked.

“The expert from Quantico that Scott’s dad sent,” Stilinski said, shaking his head.

“He definitely doesn’t look like the guys from Criminal Minds,” Dylan replied, snickering a little. “I was thinking a vacuum cleaner salesman from back in the day.”

Stilinski snorted and said, “Yea, he does have that look, doesn’t he?”

“What did he say, if you don’t mind me asking?” Dylan inquired.

“That, right now, they are stumped,” Stilinski replied. “They can’t discern a pattern and it’s more like a mass killer who goes to a mall or something and takes out whoever happens to be there than a serial killer.”

“I can definitely see that,” Dylan said, nodding.

“So, what brings you down here?” Stilinski asked.

“Scott, Malia, and I are supposed to meet up here,” he replied. “First, we wanted to get an update on the situation from your end, and then I have a call scheduled with Stiles and I figured you and Malia could talk with him.”

“Great, thanks,” the sheriff said, smiling. “I really appreciate how you keep Malia and me in the loop on calls from Stiles. Is he still acting with your friends?”

“Yea,” Dylan said, “though they’re all at Banshee Con this weekend.”

“Banshee Con?” Stilinski asked, his face scrunching as he tried to wrap his mind around such a thing. “You mean they have conventions for banshees in your universe?”

“No,” Dylan said, almost doubling over with laughter, “it’s a Teen Wolf convention.”

Stilinski got a confused look on his face.

“It’s a convention where fans of the show come together and invite cast members to come and talk with them about the show. There are panel discussions, question and answer sessions, photograph sessions, you name it.”

“And people pay to go to these things?” Stilinski asked, sounding amazed.

“Yea,” Dylan replied, “and the cast loves to go to them. It makes us feel appreciated.” He smiled. He missed going to conventions. His life had been far too hectic to in the last year and he hadn’t been able to connect as much as he wanted to his fans. Now, he was stuck here, in an alternate universe where no one had heard of him and where his character was a real-life person, and not him.

“Well, care for some coffee while we wait?” Stilinski asked.

“Sure,” Dylan replied, “also, I need to talk with you about something.”

“Sure,” Stilinski replied, “pulling out two mugs from small cabinet near his desk and pouring coffee from a coffeemaker that set on top of the cabinet, “what do you need?”

“I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” Dylan began, “but I promised Reeves I talk with you on his behalf.

Stilinski’s face went sour. “God, you’re the fifth person who’s come to talk with me about him,” Stilinski said. "I know I don’t have any proof and he’s probably not guilty, but I can’t take that chance. I want him where I can keep an eye on him and that’s here in the office, not out on patrol.”

“I understand,” Dylan said, nodding. “You could have him ride with Carlton. That way, he could be out there doing some good and people could still keep an eye on him.”

“You do realize that Reeves and Carlton are dating?” Stilinski asked.

“No,” Dylan said, somewhat surprised, “I had no idea."

“Look, I’m just afraid that Carlton might let his feelings for Reeves get in the way, if something happens,” Stilinski said. “If Reeves turns out to be the Fay who’s causing this mess and Carlton hesitates instead of shooting him, it could get Carlton and possibly other people killed. So, no I’m not going to change things right now.”

“Fair enough,” Dylan said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just promised him I’d ask."

“You’ve kept your promise,” Stilinski said, with a smile. There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said.

Scott and Kira walked in, followed by Malia and Lydia. Lydia looked around and asked, “Where’s Sprayberry?”

“He’s doing something with Liam’s family tonight,” Scott replied. “He said that they had this thing they do once a month or something and he couldn’t miss it—not if he wanted to keep his cover.”

Lydia nodded.

“Well, looks like the gang’s all here,” the sheriff said, surveying the group. “According to Dylan, you guys want an update on the investigation?”

“Yes sir, it’s been several days and we were all wondering if there’s been any progress,” Scott said. The others nodded agreement.

“As I was just telling Dylan,” Stilinski said, shrugging, “I don’t really have anything new to report. The FBI profiler was just here and basically said they didn’t have a clue.”

“Do they know what weapon killed them?” Dylan asked.

“A knife,” Stilinski replied, “likely a double-edged dagger, about six inches long. The same weapon was almost certainly used on all of the victims, except the goblin and that dog thing. That was more like a sword.”

“No idea who did it?” Scott asked. “No clues or anything.”

“Nothing,” Stilinski said, shaking his head, “not so much as one finger print or any DNA that wasn’t one of the victims.”

“Where the hell do we go from here?” Dylan asked. He started to say something else, when there was a knock at the door.

“Who is that?” Stilinski asked, moving to the door. He opened it to reveal a small, youngish woman, dressed in drab, institutional attire, looking sheepishly at the group.

“Marian,” Dylan said, a chill running through him, “what are you doing here?”

“I came because you were here,” she said to Dylan.

“Are you back to call me an abomination again?” he asked.

“You know this girl?” Stilinski asked.

“Yea,” Dylan replied, “her name is Marian and she works in the cafeteria at the school. She called me an abomination when we first met.”

Stilinski raised an eyebrow.

Just then, Reeves rushed up. “I’m sorry, sheriff,” he said. “I don’t know how she got past me. I was talking to a civilian who came in and I guess she just slipped around me.”

“That’s okay,” Reeves,” the sheriff said, “I think we may need to talk with this one. I’ll take it from here.” To Marian, he said, “Please come in, Marian.”

She nodded and slowly, carefully, stepped into the sheriff’s office.


	27. Banshee Con:  Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles, Derek, and Liam go to Banshee Con, where they see "dead people" and it goes down hill for them from there.

Stiles stepped out of the SUV into the underground garage of the LAX Sheraton. As Derek and Liam got out behind him, he could hear in the distance the sound of people calling Dylan’s name. Looking toward the far end of the garage, he could see the ramp leading up and out onto the street. Guards and police were holding back a crowd. They had passed through them on their way into the garage, a mixture of fans and photographers. Now those same people were yelling for him, or rather for Dylan, trying to get his attention. “Dylan, over here! Look over here!” he heard a female voice shout. A male voice added, “To your left!” He turned toward them and waved. There were cheers and multiple flashbulbs flared. He wasn’t sure what good flashbulbs would do at this distance, but, whatever.

A young woman came forward and greeted them with a warm smile and an outstretched hand. “Mr. O’Brien, Mr. Hoechlin, Mr. Sprayberry,” she said, shaking each of their hands in turn, “I’m Emily. Welcome to Banshee Con. We’re so happy that you could attend.”

“Glad to be here,” Stiles said, smiling.

He elbowed Derek, who quickly added, “Yea, delighted.” Stiles noticed that Derek was scowling. How typically Derek. Stiles thought he should be more concerned that Derek wasn’t trying harder to portray Hoechlin, with his ready smile and friendly manner, but then thought better of saying anything. He didn’t want to push his luck with Derek. He should just be thankful that the guy showed up at all.

“Please follow me,” Emily said and turned toward the hotel’s garage entrance, that they had pulled up to. They walked through the door and found someone holding an elevator open for them. Emily ushered them in and followed behind, producing a key, that she inserted into the elevator controls and turned. She then pressed the button for the top floor. Stiles realized that the key must exclude anyone else from using the elevator, because they went straight to the selected floor, with no stops to pick up other passengers.

They exited the elevator and Emily escorted them down a long hall, past a man wearing a t-shirt with the word SECURITY on it, who was sitting at a small desk that had been set up to partially blocked the hallway. They stopped at a door. “These three suites are interconnected and are our Con suites for the use of all of our invited guests,” she said. “You’re welcome to use them while you’re here for the convention.”

Before turning them loose on the food, she consulted a clipboard which held a schedule. “I thought I remembered seeing something scheduled early,” she said, running one long, elegant finger down the sheet. “Ah, here it is,” she continued, “Mr. Sprayberry, you have a photo session with one of our VIP attendees. Would you follow me, please?”

“Sure,” Liam said. He waved at Stiles and Derek, then followed Emily out of the room.

Inside the suite was a young, African American woman, named Tanya, who gave them their guest badges and pointed them toward refreshments and places to sit. “We’ll come and get you for your panels,” she said, smiling. “In the meantime, just relax and enjoy the food and sodas.”

Now that sounded like a plan to Stiles. He hadn’t eaten much for breakfast, being nervous and all about the convention and what to expect, and these guys had really put on a spread. There were doughnuts, bagels, cookies, fruit, and a big variety of other things. Stiles dove in. When he came up, he was balancing three chocolate doughnuts in one hand and a bagel smeared with cream cheese in the other. Meanwhile, he was holding a raspberry filled doughnut in his mouth.

“Hungry much?” Arden Cho asked, snorting at the sight.

Stiles nodded.

He was making his way to a table, when he heard a familiar voice shout, “Hoechlin!” Stiles turned to see someone who looked exactly like Kate Argent giving a bear hug to an astounded and fearful looking Derek. “How’re you doing, sweetie?” she asked, apparently oblivious to the expression on Derek’s face. “I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. It’s so nice that you’re here this weekend.”

Stiles almost dropped the doughnut in his mouth at the sight. Here was Kate, or at least someone who looked exactly like her, giving Derek a hug like they were the best friends in the world. Stiles was afraid that Derek might react really badly to this woman, whoever she actually was, simply because she looked exactly like the real Kate Argent. That would not be pretty.

“Jill Wagner!” Holland yelled, rushing up to her and patting her on the back. “I’m sure Hoechlin is delighted to see you. Aren’t you Tyler?” She looked directly at Derek and gave him an exaggerated nod. It took Derek a minute to come out of his shock and catch on, but finally he nodded, and even managed a smile.

“Yes, I am,” he said, staring at the woman like she had three heads. “It’s always so nice to see you… Jill.” He added her name after a rather awkward pause. As he returned her embrace, he looked at Stiles and mouthed the words “oh my God!” In response, Stiles just shook his head, mouth full of doughnut and all.

Stiles hurried to a table and deposited his breakfast. His intention was to go to Derek’s rescue and see if he could distract him from this Jill woman, to give him a chance to recover, but as he turned, he was face-to-face with two guys who looked exactly like Ethan and Aiden. They stared at him, bringing their faces really close to his. “Whoa, guys, what’s with the stares?” he asked.

“We’re trying to figure out if you’re really who Holland says you are,” the one who looked like Aiden said, “or if she’s just pulling our legs.”

“You mean, whether I’m really Stiles?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yes,” the one who looked like Ethan said, in an equally low voice.

“I’m totally Stiles,” Stiles replied. “Now, excuse me while I go rescue Derek.”

“That’s really Derek?” The Aiden look-alike asked, jerking his head toward Derek.

“Yea,” Stiles replied, “and if I don’t get him away from that Jill woman, I’m not sure what’s going to happen. Remember, the last time he saw her look alike, i.e. Kate Argent, one of her berserker minions stabbed him to death and then he turned into a wolf and mauled her. It wasn’t exactly a friendly meet and greet, you know.”

The twins looked at one another and stepped aside.

Stiles started to walk past them, but turned and asked, “What are you guys real names?

“I’m Max and he’s Charlie,” the Aiden look alike responded.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, “I’m going to make up an excuse to send Derek your way.” He then proceeded to walk straight up to Jill and give her a big hug of his own, breaking her hold on Derek.

“How you doing, Jill?” he asked.

“I’m fine, Dylan,” she said, seemingly surprised by the warm greeting. “How are you?”

“I’m great,” he responded. “Turning to Derek, he said, “Hey, Tyler, Max and Charlie wanted to talk with you about one of the panels. They asked me to send you over.” Then, without missing a beat, he turned back to Jill and engaged her in small talk for several minutes. Derek, not needing more than a sliver of an excuse, bolted for the twins.

Five minutes of casual conversation later and Stiles was just extracting himself from his encounter with Jill, when someone put a hand on his shoulder. Stiles turned to see Allison Argent smiling at him. “Dylan, she said, and caught him in a hug, “how are you? How’s Britt?”

“Fine and fine,” he replied, wide eyed. Obviously, this girl wasn’t Allison, but who was she?

“Crystal!” Jill cried and caught her in an embrace, herself. For a moment, it was a three-way hug, then they pulled apart.

“How are you doing, Crystal,” Stiles said, looking at her. She looked just like Allison, minus the big hole in the chest made by the Oni’s sword, of course.

“I’m great,” she replied, “been busy, going to a lot of auditions.”

“That’s great,” Stiles said. He’d learned a few things about acting in the last five days, including the fact that actors were always going to auditions. He was about to say something else, when Holland slipped an arm around his.

“Sorry, to interrupt,” She said, smiling, but Max and Charlie want to say something to Dylan and I promised I’d retrieve him for them.”

“Sure,” Crystal said, smiling, though she seemed a little disappointed.

Stiles found himself being guided away from Crystal and Jill, who turned to talk with one another. “What’s her last name?” he asked Holland in a low voice.

“Reed,” she whispered back to him.

On his way past, he grabbed the bagel and a doughnut from the table where he had put them and stuffed the doughnut in his mouth. Then, they arrived where the twins were standing in conversation with Derek. “These guys were on _Desperate Housewives_ ,” Derek said, actually smiling.

Stiles swallowed a big bite of doughnut and asked in amazement, “You watched that show?” He definitely wouldn’t have pegged Derek for a _Desperate Housewives_ fan.

“Yea,” Derek replied, eyeing Stiles like he better not say anything about it.

“I’m not judging,” Stiles replied. “No judgement here.”

Turning to the twins, he said, “You sent for me?”

“Yea, we figured you needed rescuing and we wanted to ask you how things are going for Dylan,” Max said.

“Yea, and did Britt really kill that black hound thing? Derek said she did, and we don’t want to doubt him, but we wanted to get your side of the story,” Charlie added.

“Oh yea,” Stiles said, smiling, “she totally killed that thing. Skewered it with the pointy end of a flagpole.”

The twins howled with laughter. “That’s great,” Max said. "If I didn’t know her, I’d think it was impossible. But knowing her, yea, it’s so totally the way she’d roll. That’s perfect.”

“I’m glad I could make your day,” Stiles said, smiling. They talked for several minutes and Stiles was about to excuse himself so he could eat the rest of his breakfast before it went stale, when a familiar voice called over the chattering crowd, “Hi, I’m here!” Stiles turned to see Victoria Argent walking into the room, a broad smile on her face.

“Who?” he asked Holland and the twins.

“Eaddy Mays,” they all said at once.

Stiles turned back to see Derek staring at Eaddy. He was trembling.

“Whoa, dude, relax,” he said, walking over to Derek and rubbing his back, trying to be comforting. “She’s not really Victoria Argent. She’s an actor named Eaddy Mays.”

“I heard,” Derek said, visibly making an effort to control himself, “but she looks just like Victoria, and the last time I saw her, she was trying to kill Scott, so forgive me if this is a little difficult, especially after the whole Kate Argent look-alike thing.”

Stiles felt really sorry for Derek. Here he was facing all of these really bad images from his past. They might not be the actual people who tried to kill him, but they looked and sounded like them. Stiles wondered why he didn’t react badly to them, especially to Jill. Victoria had not had a direct impact on him, but Kate sure had, yet, he didn’t feel any animosity toward her at all. He knew she wasn’t Kate and he could grasp that. Maybe, Derek lacked that ability. Maybe he could understand it intellectually, but not emotionally.

Stiles was in the middle of contemplating this when Charlie elbowed him and said, “Dude, look at his eyes.”

Stiles looked up to see sweat covering Derek’s face and his eyes glowing blue.

“Oh shit,” Stiles said in a low voice, “Derek, your eyes are glowing, man. Look down at the floor or something.”

Derek ducked his head.

“Where the hell can we take him?” Stiles wondered aloud.

“These are hotel suites, so they must have bathrooms,” Holland said. They all looked around.

“There,” Charlie said, pointing at a door near the opposite end of the large suite where they were standing. Stiles noticed that people were beginning to look at them, and not nearly all of them were in on the secret. Jill and Crystal had started to walk their way, concerned looks on their faces.

“Derek, Jill and Crystal are coming this way. Keep your head down, so they can’t see your eyes." To Holland, Max, and Charlie he nodded toward Jill and Crystal and said, “Run interference while I get him in there.” They moved to intercept them.

“What’s going on?” Stiles heard Jill ask.

“Tyler’s feeling sick,” Holland lied. “Dylan’s helping get him to the bathroom.”

Stiles felt Derek breathing heavily. God, was he going to shift right here in front of everyone? They were almost at the door, when Derek stopped. “Something’s wrong,” he said.

“Of course something’s wrong,” Stiles whispered, “you’re about to turn into the big bad wolf right in front of everyone. Now let me help you….”

“No,” Derek said, grabbing Stile’s arm hard enough that it hurt, “no… there’s something else… some danger. I sense it, but I can’t put my finger on it. Trust me, Stiles, something here is very, very wrong. We’re all in really bad danger.”

Stiles, who had been bent over Derek, straightened and looked around. He didn’t see anything, other than people staring at them with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

“I don’t see anything,” he whispered to Derek. “Let’s get you to the bathroom and then we can figure it out. We can’t let them see your eyes. Not all of them are in on what’s going on.” He practically dragged Derek toward the door.

“I know that,” Derek said, his voice irritated, his body resisting Stiles’ effort to move him, “but something is very off. I know it.”

They were nearly at the door. Stiles leaned forward, but couldn’t quite reach it. He let go of Derek and moved to the door. He put his hand on the knob. Turning, he expected to guide Derek the rest of the way into the bathroom. Instead, to his horror, he saw that Derek had straightened and turned to gaze into the crowed of celebrities who had gathered, waiting for the Con to start. There were gasps and several people were taking steps back. Reflexively, he pulled the door to the bathroom open, not that it much mattered now.

When the door opened, Derek whirled around, not only were his eyes glowing, but his fangs were clearly visible, as well. Derek’s eyes grew wide. “Stiles, get out of the way!” he shouted. Rushing forward, he swept one arm to the side, catching Stiles in the waist and sweeping him away from the door with such force that he flew several feet through the air, landing with a thud on the carpet. Gasping from having the wind knocked out of him, Stiles looked up in horror to see a huge black hound leap from the bathroom directly at Derek.


	28. Marian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this brief chapter, Dylan, Stilinski, and company finally get some of the answers they've been looking for.
> 
> The next chapter will be Banshee Con: Part 2.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Dylan stared at Marian, partly with contempt that she had the audacity to show up at the sheriff’s office after what she said to him and partly fearful of what she could do if she really were the Fay who was switching them all between universes. “Why do you want to see me if I’m such an ‘abomination?’” he asked.

“I never said that you were an abomination,” she replied meekly. Dylan noticed that her left hand twitched slightly. “I said that it was an abomination that you were here… as in here in this universe.” She looked at him and he noticed that her jaw had a twitch in it, too.

“Oh,” he said, suddenly finding the need to stare at his feet, “I thought you meant….”

“No,” she said, coming forward to look up into his downturned face, “you may look like Stiles and you do a very good job of pretending to be him, but I can tell that you’re someone else and not even someone from this universe.”

“What, are you psychic or something?” Scott asked.

“Yes, actually I am, wolf lord,” she replied. Scott did a double take at being called “wolf lord.” She turned to him, tilted her head and said, “I see doctors in your future. Stiles will be able to tell you about them when he returns.”

Turning back to Dylan, she said, “As for you, man who lies for a living, I see no spiders in your future, but likely there will be deep horizons, and the marvelous men may make you a villain, at some point, though that at this time it is questionable.”

Dylan felt his mouth fall open. He closed it and asked, “How the hell do you know about all that?”

“I’m psychic,” she said in a tone that implied that he wasn’t very good at listening.

“What’s she talking about?” Stilinski asked.

“Everyone in my universe has been saying that I’m up for the role of Spiderman,” Dylan explained. He heard a sharp intake of breath and looked over to see Kira staring at him like he was a rock god or something. “actually,” he continued, “ I haven’t heard a word from them. Instead, I’ve been talking with the people at Summit Entertainment about playing a role in their movie about the Deep Horizon.”

“That oil platform that blew up in the Gulf of Mexico?” Lydia asked.

“Yes,” Dylan replied.

“I guess she really is psychic,” Stilinski said.

“What did she mean by ‘doctors?’” Scott asked, looking at Dylan.

“They’re the bad guys for season five of _Teen Wolf_ ,” he replied.

“Oh, great, Nogitsunes and assassins aren’t enough, now we have to deal with evil doctors, too?” Malia was looking really upset at the prospect.

“That may be in the future,” Stilinski said, “but right now we have to deal with this whole Fay plot to destroy three universes, so that’s what we need to focus on. We can get Dylan to tell us about these doctors before he goes back home, but right now, it’s important to find out who this Fay person is and stop him or her.”

“You don’t know?” Marian said, looking surprised, the twitching in her face becoming more visible. Dylan thought that it might have something to do with her stress level.

“Know what?” Stilinski asked.

“This fairy person,” Marian said, looking like she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t seen this turn of events, given her abilities, “it’s that waitress at the restaurant you guys go to.”

“Marsha?” they all said at once.

“Yes,” Marian replied, “the one at Ponders, the one who waits on you every day. She’s possessed by a really powerful fairy princess. That’s where she got the idea. She and her fairy lover were banished from the world of the Fay. They were sent to different universes by the fairies as punishment for their crime. They were condemned to be able to communicate with one another, but never again to see one another… never again to touch…. They discovered that there was a connection between the two universes. What was going on in real life in one was a television show in the other, but the two universes were so connected that the names of the characters in one were the names of the real-life people in the other, and the plot of the show was always the same as the real life events in the other. That’s a powerful connection, so they decided it was perfect to get revenge against the Fay for what they had done to them.”

“Damn,” Stilinski said. The others just stared at her. Dylan realized that in this one brief monologue, Marian had explained the whole thing and given them one of the culprits involved. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the forehead.


	29. Banshee Con:  Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I ended up writing more this weekend than I anticipated, so I am posting 3 chapters in 2 days, basically.
> 
> Anyway, this is a Banshee Con chapter that deals with the consequences of a giant, otherworldly hound showing up at the Con.
> 
> The next chapter will deal with some of the Con panels, but will likely not be ready until next weekend, so enjoy the 3 chapters I posted until it's ready.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! :)

The black hound lunged at Derek, who, having saved Stiles from the attack was now squarely in the creature’s path. Stiles saw one glowing red eyeball, looking wild-eyed, as the beast hurtled past.

Derek struck upward with his left fist as the hound sprang on him, striking it’s lower jaw and deflecting its mouth full of dagger-like teeth away from him. None-the-less, the hound’s body struck Derek with enough force to knock him down.

At that moment, several things happened. Liam, who had just returned from his photo session, saw what was going on and rushed forward, shifting as he did so. Derek, who was on his back with the hound on top of him, had the beast by the throat as it tried to twist its head and bite him. Liam grabbed the creature by the nape of its neck, and threw it bodily, with enough force that it sailed back toward the bathroom from which it came, striking the left door jam, causing it to splinter and fly in all directions in a spray of wood shards and drywall chunks.

As the hound howled in pain and surprise, trying to extract itself from the wall, Liam roared at the beast. It was a fine roar, one that impressed Stiles very much; a clear “don’t fuck with me and my friends” roar that Scott would have been impressed with.

Stiles then looked back toward Derek, only to see him in full wolf form extracting himself from his human cloths, preparing to lunge at the hound. Crystal Reed and Jill Wagner, apparently had both seen the shift, because they were staring in shock at the wolf that was Derek, mouths hanging open. Well, Stiles thought, that wolf’s out of the bag.

Just then, Stiles heard a sound coming from the main door to the suite. He looked up to see Jeff Davis run into the room at full speed, followed closely by Margot and about six burley security guards. Margot immediately ran toward the fray, pulling something from her purse.

Jeff shouted at the guards, “Spread out and protect everyone.” They moved to comply, stationing themselves, as best they could, between the fight and the guests. They pulled Taser-like batons from holsters at their waists and prepared to shock anything that came their way.

Meanwhile, Margot ran toward Stiles, shouting, “Stiles, catch!” She lofted something long and metallic-looking toward him. He caught it, just as his breath began to return. Looking at it, the thing appeared to be a short, round, sturdy piece of metal tubing. It had a blue button and a red button near the hilt.

“The blue button extends it,” she shouted, then started rummaging through her purse.

Stiles pressed the blue button and the baton extend to about three feet. It felt solid. This thing was well made. Smiling, he got to his feet and turned to face the hound, which had freed itself from the wall and was glaring at Liam, Derek, and Stiles, with murder in its beady, glowing little eyes.

There was a moment when everything went dead quiet, the hound looking at the three of them and they looking at it, no one in the room saying anything. Then, he heard Eaddy Mays ask in a soft voice, “Why did you call Dylan Stiles?”

He heard Margot reply, “Because that’s his name. He really is Stiles.”

“Oh,” Eaddy replied, softly.

Then, the hound howled, Derek growled, and Liam roared, and they all charged.

A second later, the hound and Derek had locked their jaws on one another, growling and twisting their heads, each trying to rip off pieces of flesh from the other. It was a very impressive dog fight, as both were about twice the size of the biggest dogs Stiles had ever seen.

Meanwhile, Liam struck at the hound with his claws, raking huge gashes in the beast's back, which seemed to heal almost as fast as Liam cut them. Stiles, attempted to get blows in whenever he could with the baton, while avoiding hitting Derek and Liam. It was not easy, but the blows he did manage to land seemed to have more effect than the scratches from Liam or the bites from Derek. Maybe it was because the baton was made of steel, which was very similar to iron in composition.

Margot suddenly shouted at the top of her lungs, “Derek, Liam, and Stiles, listen up. Here’s the plan. When I shout ‘Now,’ Derek and Liam break away. When you’re clear, I’m going to hit the hound with a baggie full of ground up mountain ash and mistletoe berries. That should stun it. Then, I want you, Stiles, to hit it in the head as hard as you can with the baton. Hit it over and over. Don’t stop, okay? This thing is hard to kill and it’s going to take a lot to put it down. Did you all hear that?”

Liam and Stiles shouted “Yes” in response. Derek barked, so Stiles assumed that was wolf for yes. Stiles looked around. Everyone was cowering behind the guards, astonished and fearful looks on their faces. A wry smile crossed his lips. Welcome to my world, folks, he thought.

“Okay,” Margot said, “break now!”

Liam and Derek broke away and jumped back, so that they flanked Margot. The hound started to rush the three of them, but Margot threw the baggie full of mountain ash and mistletoe powder at it, catching it full in the snout. The baggie burst, covering the creature in a powdery mist of the mixture.

The hound howled and fell to the floor, writhing and whining, pawing it’s face trying to wipe the stuff out of its eyes.

Without hesitation, Stiles pounced, bring the baton down as hard as he could onto the hound’s head. There was a satisfying crack, as the baton struck home. Stiles raised the baton and struck again, then again, and continued to rain down blows on the beast, aiming for its head. Over and over he hit it, until he ran out of steam and staggered back. The hound was a mess, it’s head bloody and misshapen, but it was still alive. Slowly, it tried to get to its feet.

“Stiles,” Margot shouted, “quick, the red button.”

“Red,” Stiles said, looking at the baton, “what does that do?” He pressed the button and a blade flashed out from the tip of the baton. “Oh,” Stiles said, surprised, “that’s what it does.” There were rune-like markings on the blade, which had to be at least seven inches long.

Stiles turned to face the hound, which was now on its feet and looking at him with murder in its eyes. He charged the creature, just as it charged him, spinning at the last minute so that it missed him and then, as it tried to stop its forward progress, driving the blade into its side, where he thought its heart must be.

The hound gave a strangled, snarling howl, surprising Stiles in its energy and ferocity. It sounded to him like all the host of hell and been released from the pit, a long; anguished, angry sound that eventually trailed off into a gurgle. Then, the creature collapsed, convulsed several times, and lay still.

Stiles staggered back, still holding the baton, which he had pulled from the creature’s side, and collapsed in exhaustion, himself, landing with a thud on the floor.

There was dead silence, as everyone processed what they had just witnessed.

Finally, Eaddy Mays said, “Will someone please explain to us what the hell just happened?”


	30. Banshee Con:  Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter is a day later than I promised. It was a particularly hard one to write. I think that was for two reasons. First, it had to accomplish a lot, transitioning from the killing of the hound to the first part of the actual convention, itself, then dealing with Stiles' reflections about his own relationships and where he might want them to go. Also, I've been sick for four days, and unable to write for three of those, which has made finishing it a pain.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Please tell me in the comments what you think worked and didn't work about it. I'd be interested in getting the feedback. Thanks! :)

As Jeff came forward to explain the whole situation with fairies, black hounds, and people being swapped between universes, Stiles got to his feet and wiped the blade of the baton on the carcass of the dead hound. He then pressed the red button and the blade retracted into the body of the baton. When he clicked the blue button, the baton retracted into a single length of steel, about a foot long. Sweet, he thought. Beats a baseball bat any day.

He looked around the room. There were not a large number of people there. Besides Margot, Jeff, the security guards, Derek, Liam, and himself, there were Arden, Max, Charlie, Linden, Melissa, J.R., and Holland, all of whom knew the secret. In addition, there were Eaddy, Jill, Crystal, Tanya, Emily, and the security guard from the hall, this last having rushed in when the commotion started, none of whom knew the secret. This latter grouped listened in utter silence as Jeff started to explain things.

Just as he began to speak, however, lookalikes for Peter Hale and Isaac Lahey came in, escorted by another young woman, whose name Stiles didn’t know. Upon seeing the dead hound on the floor and Derek, still in wolf form licking his wounds, they all stopped in their tracks and the Peter Hale lookalike said, “Oh-my-God, those are huge dogs! What the hell happened here?”

“I was just about to explain that, Ian,” Jeff said, and motioned for the three of them to join the crowd. To Derek, he said, “Derek, please don’t bite Ian. He’s just an actor. He’s not really Peter.”

Derek looked at Ian and growled. Peter took a step back and slid around behind J.R. and Linden, apparently not wanting to get too close to the growling wolf. Stiles couldn’t really blame him for that.

Jeff spent the next ten minutes telling everyone what was going on and swearing them all to secrecy on pain of Margot doing really bad magical things to them if they blabbed. During that part, Margot leaned over to Stiles and whispered, “Yea, like that’s going to happen.”

Stiles replied, “I know that, and you know that, but they don’t know it.” Margot smiled and winked.

When he was finished, the Isaac look alike said, “This all seems very implausible, Jeff.”

“Holy shit, you’re British,” Stiles said, before he could stop himself. To Jeff, he asked, “Isaac’s British in this show?”

Everyone laughed.

“No, Stiles,” Jeff explained, “Daniel Sharman here is British, but he uses an American accent when he plays Isaac.”

“Thank heavens,” Stiles replied, relieved, “scarves were bad enough, but scarves and a British accent would have been way too much for me.”

Everyone laughed, again.

“Well,” Jeff replied to Daniel, “if you had been here for the fight, you would have seen Derek change into a wolf from a human, which would have settled things once and for all.”

“We saw him change,” Crystal said, pointing to herself and Jill.

“Yea, scariest shit I’ve ever seen,” Jill added.

Daniel looked impressed.

Well, as you weren’t here to see Derek, and we don’t want to ask him to change back in front of everyone, as that would mean he’d be naked,” Jeff continued, “I think we can settle it if Liam is willing to transform for us. Will you do that, Liam?”

“Sure,” Liam said, "I did it for Stiles at Britt’s house, so why not here, too. He then proceeded to transform for the benefit of the newcomers.

Stiles thought that Daniel was going to shit himself. His eyes got wide and he took a couple of steps back. Ian was a little cooler about it. He slowly walked up to Liam and took a long, close look at him. For his part, Liam seemed a little taken aback by a Peter look-alike getting up close and personal with him. “Sorry, dude,” Liam said, backing away. “The last time I saw someone who looked like you was in an Aztec temple in Mexico and that definitely didn’t end well.”

“Oh, sorry,” Ian said, and backed off.

Emily looked like she was about to cry. “What are we going to do about the convention?” she practically wailed. “We don’t have half the guests we thought we did and monsters are showing up, too.”

“Relax,” Stiles said, “the convention can go on. We’ll just do what we’ve been doing and pretend to be the actors. As for the monsters, between the guards that Jeff has and the three of us, we can handle most anything that comes along.”

Tanya walked over, put an arm around Emily, and said, “You know he’s right. He’s figured it out. It’s Stiles, he always figures it out.” Emily smiled at that and hugged Tanya.

Stiles wondered why they phrase sounded so familiar. Maybe it was a line from his past that had made it into the show. He couldn’t remember.

“And I can give them a hand with that,” Margot said, smiling and patting her purse, which was a very large, brown leather thing that Stiles thought looked like something his grandmother would have carried. “I came prepared to put wards around the whole freaking building. Those should mitigate the effects of the universe mixing, at least while the convention is going on, and it should keep most, if not all, of the monsters from showing up.

After a long moment, Emily sighed and nodded. “I guess we can at least try,” she said.

“Great,” Stiles said, smiling, “let’s get this show on the road.”

=== ===

Stiles’ first panel had been called “It’s Dangerous to be Human Around Here,” which he could certainly agree with.

Crystal responded to one question about Allison find out that she was a hunter in a way that made Stiles really think. When she said that it had taken Allison a little while to embrace who her family was and who she was, Stiles wondered if that were true in real life as well. Had the real Allison been thinking the same thing? They would never know, of course. The real Allison was dead.

Holland talked about how, even though she wasn’t human, she felt like she was, because she didn’t have any cool powers like Scott and the others, so she was in the same boat as Stiles and Danny.

Stiles was asked what he thought when he first figured out that Scott was a werewolf. “Man,” he said, thinking back to that time. It wasn’t that long ago, really, but it seemed like forever, “I was just devastated… I mean, Stiles was just devastated. Here he was, his best friend had just become a werewolf, and wasn’t even accepting the fact yet… and all this shit was happening. It was a tough time, I can tell you that.” It was only after he stopped talking that he realized that a tear was trickling down his cheek. Crystal saw it and placed her hand on his, under the table. He smiled at her. That was a nice thing to do for him, especially considering that she’d just found out that he was someone totally different than who she thought he was.

One young girl, who couldn’t have been more than five or six, walked up to the microphone to ask her question. The girl's mother had dressed her up in a little dress that had wolves in various poses of play all over it, while her hair was tied by a big black bow that he red werewolf eyes on it. She looked so adorable that Stiles thought the whole panel sighed when they caught sight of her.

“Oh, aren’t you so cute,” Stiles said, falling in love with this adorable child on first sight. He just wanted to sweep her up in a big hug and buy her cookies and ice cream or whatever you did for a kid that age.

“Thanks, Mr. O’Brian,” the little girl said. She started to ask her question, but then seemed to be distracted. “You know,” she began, “maybe you can make my mom a salami sandwich or something.”

“Uh, okay,” Stiles said, confused, “why?”

“Because, she keeps talking about how hot you are and how she’d like to eat your salami.”

The entire room howled with laughter. Holland, who was in the middle of taking a sip of water, did a perfect “spit-take,” sending a spray of liquid almost out to the first row of seats.

The mom in question went beet red, covered her face with both hands, and turned away.

The little girl, who was completely oblivious to the double meaning of her question, looked around, evidently wondering why everyone though it so funny.

Stiles’ face felt flushed, so he figured that he must have gone completely red. It didn’t help that he was the only guy on the panel.

“Out of the mouths of babes,” he said, deadpan, which got the room roaring all over again. When things calmed down, he said to the girl, “Sweetie, I’m sorry, but I already have someone who has first dibs on my salami and they wouldn’t like it if I gave someone else any.” He wondered how true that actually was. He’d never had that conversation with Malia. Were they in an exclusive relationship? He hoped not. He really wanted to try things with different people, before settling down with just one person. He had feelings for Malia, definitely, he thought he might even be in love with her, but was she really the one. He realized that he couldn’t answer that question one way or another. He did not have the life experience yet to decide that.

Someone ushered the girl back to her extremely embarrassed mother and the next fan asked a question directed to Crystal.

=== ===

It was somehow appropriate that the next panel was called “Love in the Time of Werewolves,” and was billed as being a “light hearted discussions about ships on the show.” Upon hearing that “Ships” meant relationships, Stiles thought that maybe it would give him a chance to work out what was going on in his own love life. He wondered if he should be at least a little freaked out about it, discussing his and everyone else’s love lives, but he reasoned that if it helped him figure out where he wanted his feelings to go with Derek, Lydia, and Malia, then it would be well worth the intrusion into his personal life.

“So, is this like the last one?” he asked Holland, who was standing beside him, in the line that the moderators had set up.

“Yea,” Holland said, “just like before. We wait here until Barbara and Sharon, the moderators, introduce us and then we walk out and site in the chair where our name tags are. Then the moderators start the panel with some introductory remarks and ask us questions, after which they open it up for the audience to ask questions. Simple, really, just like the last one.”

“Cool, thanks,” Stiles said, smiling.

“No problem,” she replied.

Posey rushed in and found his place in line, just in front of Stiles.

“Hey,” he said to Stiles, “did you really kill one of those black hound things, earlier?”

“Yep,” Stiles responded, showing him the baton that Margot had given him, “killed it with this.” He pressed the blue button and the baton extended, then the red button and the blade popped out.

“Wow, wicked!” Posey said, admiring the weapon. “Jeff should totally write that baton into the show.”

“Stiles, put it away,” Holland said, a strained look on her face, “people are staring.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, looking around self-consciously. People were definitely staring. He pressed the buttons again and retracted everything back to a foot-long tube.

Derek arrived and was placed between Stiles and Holland in the lineup. Jeff soon followed, with the moderators putting him at the head of the line, in front of Posey. “Looks like we’re heavy on guys and not so much on girls,” Stiles observed.

“Hang on, hang on,” Shelley replied, as she and Arden rushed in. “We had to go to the bathroom.” They took their places, Arden between Scott and Stiles, and Shelley between Stiles and Derek.

“Now, we’re more evenly matched,” Shelley said. She poked Stiles in the ribs and he jumped.

“Watch it,” he responded, rubbing his side. “I forget that you’re not Malia.”

“What, are you going to try to kiss me or something?” Shelley asked, playfully.

“No," Stiles replied, “it’s just that when she does that, she sometimes forgets and has her claws out.”

“Ouch,” Shelley replied, frowning, “sounds painful.”

“Trust me, it is,” Stiles said, nodding.

Barbara and Sharon walked to the podium to start the introductions.

“Hello, everyone,” Barbara said, in a rich British accent, “I’m Barbara and this is Sharon, and we’re the girls from the ‘It’s a Teen Wolf Podcast.’ Jeff asked us to moderate this panel which is all about love and relationships in the world of Teen Wolf.”

Enthusiastic cheering filled the room.

“Wow, they seem to have this thing about love,” Derek said, eyeing Stiles.

“You have no idea,” Holland replied, while Max and Charlie sniggered behind her.

“Get Stiles to tell you what the six year old asked him in the last panel,” Crystal said, a broad smile on her face.

“How many people are there?” Stiles said hurriedly, trying to change the topic. The sound was loud, even back here.

“About 300,” Posey replied, matter-of-factly.

“Three hundred?!” Stiles and Derek exclaimed at once.

“You mean, 300 people paid money to be at this convention?” Derek asked, amazed.

“Yes,” Holland replied, "and they’re all big fans of the show, so don’t do anything to upset them, okay?” She pointed fingers at Stiles and Derek, both of whom nodded, obediently.

“So, love in the time werewolves is our theme,” Sharon was saying. “Stalia, Stydia, Scira, Jenerk, Scallison, Shelissa, and dare we say it… Sterek.”

At this last, the crowed went into wild cheering. Stiles, remembering a conversation he’d had with Jeff and Scott late on the day he arrived in this universe, turned to Jeff and asked, “Is it later yet?”

Jeff swallowed, hard. “Well, it’s like this…,” he began.

Posey, who had gone very pale at the mention of Sterek, said, “I’m not sure you guys would react very well to it, so maybe we shouldn’t say.”

“Oh for God’s sake,” Holland said, “stop beating around the bush.” To Stiles, she said, “It’s a fictional relationship between you and Derek.”

“Relationship?” Derek said. He puckered his lips and made kissing noises. “You mean like that kind of relationship?”

“Exactly that kind of relationship,” Holland replied. “Many of the fans have been wanting that since season one. Of course, in fairness, there are a number who want Stydia—that’s a relationship between Stiles and Lydia, and there are some who want Stalia, which is….”

“…a relationship between Stiles and Malia,” Stiles said, figuring out the pattern. “So, Skira is Scott and Kira, and Scallison is Scott and Allison.”

“Right,” Holland and Shelley replied at once.

“Why were you two so scared to tell us that?” Stiles asked. “It’s no big deal.” Stiles looked at Derek, who just looked back at him, noncommittally.

“Would it be a big deal to Dylan and Tyler?” Derek asked.

“I don’t think so,” Holland replied.

“What’s Shelissa?” Derek asked.

“Sheriff Stilinski and Melissa McCall,” Posey said.

“Oh my God!” Stiles exclaimed, going wide-eyed. He was sure he turned about five shades whiter than his normal pasty self. This was so extremely embarrassing. Pairing him up with everyone he knew was not a particularly big deal, but putting his dad and Scott’s mom together. What was wrong with these people? People’s parents didn’t have sex with one another. That was just… gross. “My dad isn’t interested in Scott’s mom,” he said, frowning. “They’re parents. They’re not interested in each other that way.”

“Hey, cool it,” Jeff said to all of them, “we’re about to be introduced.”

Stiles listened as Barbara and Sharon called Jeff’s name. He walked out to applause and waved to everyone, before taking his seat.

They then called the name of each person and they came out, one by one, and sat at their assigned locations. Stiles was amazed at the roar of applause when Dylan was introduced and ran out, high fiving Posey on his way past, finally taking his seat after giving a big, double-handed wave to the crowd. Wow, he thought, this guy is some kind of popular.

When the final guest was seated, the girls went into their routine.

“Last season,” Barbara said, her flowing red hair falling in cascades around her shoulders and down her back, “we saw Beacon Hills invaded by assassins, berserkers, and were-jaguars. This season, we hear rumors of evil doctors and the Sluagh. It doesn’t seem like there’s going be much time for loving in the world of Teen Wolf. We know, however, that love is something they make time for on this show, even amid all the death and maiming, so what do we have to look forward to in the realm of love, Jeff?”

“Well,” Jeff said, clearing his throat and giving Stiles a look that seemed to say that he was sorry for what he was about to reveal, “I think the two biggest things this year are first, that Scott and Kira will ‘Define the Relationship.’ So, I think fans can look forward to some love there.” He smiled as the crowd cheered.

“Hell Yea!” Posey shouted and high-fived Stiles, who made a mental not to tell Scott when he got a chance.

“The other thing,” Jeff continued, frowning and giving Stiles a side-long glance, “is that we can expect a bit of a rocky road for Stiles and Malia this season.”

Stiles set up straight. “Whoa,” he said, looking directly at Jeff, “what do you mean, rocky road?” His great mood had suddenly taken a downturn.

“I just mean,” Jeff said, looking very uncomfortable, “that Malia will have a lot on her plate, balancing the search for her mom and everything going on, so it might not be as easy going as one might hope.”

“Great,” Stiles said, under his breath, “not only do I have to deal with murdering fairies and ravenous hounds from between the universes, but when I get back, I’ve got to face ‘a rocky road’ with my girlfriend.” He sighed. Only then did her realize that everyone in the room was looking at him and that his “under the breath” remarked had been picked up by the microphone.

“Uh… is that like… a spoiler or something?” Barbara asked, clearly uncomfortable.

“No! No, not at all,” Jeff said, smiling. “Before the convention began, we were just throwing ideas for season six around, and that’s what Stiles… I mean Dylan, was referring to.”

Everyone looked uncomfortable. The audience looked confused. Stiles was mentally kicking himself for letting this get out of hand.

He was just about to say something to try and get things back under control, when Sharon came to the rescue. “Well, if things are going to be on the rocks for Stalia,” she said, “might there be new hope for Stydia?”

“There’s always hope for Stydia,” Stiles said, seizing on the opportunity to move the conversation away from dangerous territory.

“So you like that ship,” Barbara asked, smiling.

“Absolutely,” Stiles said, “from the moment I saw her in the sandbox when I was four… I mean, when Stiles saw her in the sandbox when he was four, she became the first love of his life. So, he loves Malia, but if she were out of the picture, then something might still happen with Lydia.

“So, Holland, what do you think about that?” Sharon asked.

“I think,” Holland began, eyeing Stiles like she was considering very carefully what she was about to say, “that Lydia would be lucky to have him and that she is just now waking up to that fact, at least a little bit. Though, I think she may have to go through a few other guys before she fully realizes it, if she ever does. So, I think right now, she might not be overly receptive to it, but she knows that Stiles is a quality guy, so in the future, who knows… maybe.”

Stiles just looked at her. What the hell was that answer supposed to even mean.

“Uh… I think…,” Stiles continued, haltingly, “that if I needed to sum up Stiles’ feelings for Lydia, I would say that part of him will always love her, because she was his first love, but he knows that she does not feel the same way back, so, he has begun the process of moving on. But, he still has hopes.”

“Speaking of ‘hopes,’” Sharon said, looking down the line of celebrities, “with Tyler Hoechlin no longer a season regular, is there any hope at all for a Sterek storyline?”

“No,” Derek said, crossing his arms. There were moans from the audience.

For some reason Stiles took great offence to Derek’s dismissive answer and wanted to vent his feelings, “Now wait a minute,” he said, looking at him across Shelley, “it could happen.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Dude, seriously?” he said.

“Yea, seriously,” Stiles replied. “Opposites attract, dude. You never know what two people would go great together that no one would ever think would be together.”

“But, they’re like two guys,” Derek said. He didn’t say it in a negative way. Stiles thought it was more like he was probing things out, to see if Stiles had thought things through.

“Trust me on this,” Stiles said, smiling, “Stiles doesn’t think about gender when it comes to people he has feelings for. Whether they’re male or female is totally beyond the point to him. He thinks about whether a person is nice or not. He thinks about whether a person has acted in ways to deserve his love or not. But, he definitely doesn’t think in terms of gender.

There was massive cheering in the audience. Stiles felt really good about making this declaration.

“So,” Sharon said, wide-eyed, running her fingers nervously through her blond, shoulder-length hair, “Stiles is definitely bisexual?”

“Stiles hates to put a label on it,” Stiles replied, feeling really weird, talking about himself in the third person. “To him, everyone’s a person. In thinking of who to date, gender is the last thing Stiles thinks about.”

More cheering. Stiles smiled. It was good to feel such love coming for the fans. He sensed the kind of feeling that Dylan and the others must get when they attend these conventions… it was love, no other word for it, and it made him smile from ear to ear.

“Well, what about Derek?” Derek asked. “have you never thought that gender might matter to him?”

The cheering stopped and the mood became really down at that remark.

Stiles actually hadn’t considered that, but it didn’t matter to him. He assumed that no one would do anything voluntarily, that was beyond their comfort level, and he thought the chances of that being within Derek’s comfort level were basically 100 percent. “Dude, you really know how to throw water on a party, don’t you,” Stiles said, gesturing to the audience. For emphasis, he leaned across Shelley, who pushed her chair back to give him more room and a better line of site, and said, “You’re telling me, that if Derek weren’t dating Braedon and Stiles weren’t dating Malia, and Stiles came over and said something like, ‘Hey, let’s go for ice cream and see what happens,’ then he wouldn’t say yes?”

Derek looked uncomfortable, actually squirming in his seat a little bit. “Well,” he began, “since you put it like that… I guess… actually… yea, I think he would probably say yes.”

There were cheers all around at that. Smiling, Stiles said, “Ladies and gentleman, I rest my case.”


	31. Naming Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan, Stilinski, and the pack talk with Silveron about what they have discovered and create a plan. Dylan and the fairies come up with a novel use for 911. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy. :)

It was Friday morning and Dylan, along with Scott, Parrish, Lydia, and Deaton were huddled with Silveron in the Animal Clinic going over the discoveries of the night before.

“Sereetha,” Silveron said, coldly, “I should have known.”

“Who’s Sereetha?” Stilinski asked.

“She was once a princess of the seelie court,” he replied, with what seemed to Dylan to be an almost wistful note in his otherwise harsh tone. “She was beautiful, even for a Fay. The daughter of a Fay prince, she had the world at her feet. But, she chose to commit one of the few unforgivable crimes in the fay world, and for that, she and her lover, Korin, a prince of the unseelie court, were banished from the world of the Fay forever.”

“What did they do?” Scott asked. The tone of his voice made it sound like he couldn’t think of anything worse for someone than being banished from the world where they grew up and where their family and friends were.

“Fay are naturally magical,” Silveron said, “so we don’t normally need to enhance our abilities. Some Fay, however, want to improve their magical capabilities in specific areas and there are various ways of doing that. But there is one thing that is forbidden to all of the Fay; in fact it is one of the few magical practices that is pretty much forbidden across all of the universes the Fay have ever visited. That is the practice of soul magic. Sereetha and Korin broke that rule. And for that, they were punished with banishment, not just from the Fay world, but from one another as well.”

“What’s soul magic?” Dylan asked. It sounded ominous and he hoped that it was not as bad as he thought it must be.

“In soul magic,” Silveron explained, “the magician captures the soul of a sentient being and imprisons it in an object. He or she then uses that object to work magic, but it consumes the soul thus imprisoned. It causes great agony to the imprisoned soul and ultimately, uses it up completely, like a battery. Thus, the soul is utterly destroyed in the process.”

Dylan shuddered. “That sounds horrible,” he said.

“Indeed it is, and it gets worse,” Silveron replied. “In order to gain the ability to use this form of magic, the magician must perform a ritual in which he or she sacrifices three of the purest beings that exist anywhere in all of the universes. They must sacrifice three unicorns.”

“Unicorns?” Lydia said, “You’re telling me that there really are unicorns in the universe.”

“Yes,” Silveron replied, “though they don’t normally live in your universe at all, they do exist in the Fay universe and several others, though they are extremely rare.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Dylan said, “Sereetha and her boyfriend, Korin, caught three unicorns and sacrificed them, so they could practice soul magic, which allows them to imprison human souls and use them like batteries to perform really powerful magic.”

“Yes,” Silveron said, “though it’s not just human souls. The souls of any sentient being will work. Human souls are particularly good for that purpose, as they contain abundant energy. Only the souls of Fay are better.”

“I can see why you guys did the whole banishing thing on them,” Scott said, a disgusted look on his face. “I’d be tempted to give them the death penalty, even though I don’t believe in it, normally.”

“We don’t have the death penalty in the world of the Fay,” Silveron said, with a wry smile, “but in this case, I think we may make an exception.”

“Yea, I agree,” Dylan said, “this whole business of destroying universes and imprisoning souls sounds like it needs a level of punishment all its own.”

Silveron nodded, solemnly.

Stiles' phone beeped in Dylan’s pocket. He extracted it and looked down at the face. “It’s a photo from Stiles,” Dylan said. “He and the cast are supposed to be at Banshee Con today.” Opening the photo, he gasped in amazement. “Oh, hell!” he shouted in shock.

“What’s wrong,” Stilinski said, moving closer.

Dylan turned the phone around to show the others an image of Stiles standing over the carcass a big black hound, brandishing a baton with a bladed tip.

“The text that came with it says that he killed this thing in the guest suite at the convention,” Dylan said astounded. “What the hell was this doing at a convention?”

“My guess is that the presence of Stiles, Derek, and Liam all in close proximity to one another is causing ripples in the fabric of the universe in the immediate area around them,” Silveron said.

“So, does that mean that stuff like this is going to follow them around wherever they go?” Dylan asked, concerned for anyone near them, especially his girlfriend.

“Yes,” Silveron said, simply, “I wish I could deny it, but that is what happens. The disturbances follow the presence of those beings or objects that do not belong from that universe, and it’s exponentially worse when a large mass of them are together.”

“But, that hasn’t happened so much over here,” Dylan said. Scott and Lydia nodded in agreement.

“That is likely for two reasons,” Silveron replied. “First, two of the three of them are supernatural beings, which gives their presence more weight, as it were. The second reason is that the three of you have not been closely together in this universe, meaning that the weight on the universe is more evenly distributed rather than being focused in one place.”

“Okay, that makes sense,” Dylan said. “Is there any way to protect them? It would be really bad if one of these hounds showed up in the middle of a panel and attacked the fans or something.”

“I’m sure Margot is already working on the problem,” Silveron smiled. “She is well trained and I’m certain she is putting wards around the entire hotel where the convention is taking place. That will keep this from happening for the duration of your convention.”

“Really?” Dylan said. “How long will they last?”

“A few days,” he replied. “The problem is that as time progresses and the universes continue to deteriorate, the harder and harder it will become to do this. So, we need to determine where in your universe Korin is. He must be Sereetha’s partner in this. We cannot move against her until we can get them both at once, so we must find him.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Dylan said. “He must have access to the studio. Stiles said that the nemeton prop was the source of the problem in my world. That means, that he must be part of the cast or crew, or perhaps one of the craft services people or security guards. They are the only ones who can come and go on the set, pretty much as they please. Though,” he added, rubbing his chin, “even the craft services people can’t do that. It would raise suspicions if one of them came in during the middle of the night.”

“But, you can’t rule it out completely,” Stilinski said.

“True,” Dylan replied.

“So, they have to stay in the list of suspects, for now, at least,” he said.

Dylan nodded in agreement.

“Here is how I think we should proceed,” Silveron said. “Dylan, you should contact Stiles and tell him to speak with Margot and have her create a divining stone to detect Fay. It will take her full effort for several days to do it, and I will need to come to her in her dreams to provide her with some additional information. Once she has that, she and Stiles will be able to detect humans who are possessed by Fay spirits. Once we know who the person is, we will be able to act against both Korin and Sereetha at once. Only then can we get everyone back to their appropriate universes and shut down the connection.”

“What should we do here?” Stilinski asked.

“Keep Sereetha under observation,” Silveron said, “but be very careful how you do it. She must not suspect anything, so, keep it very lose and casual, understood?”

“Got it,” Stilinski said.

“I’ll set something up with the SCAPE team,” Parrish said.

“Is there any way we can get in touch with you quicker than going through Deaton?” Stilinski asked. “No offence, Deaton, but it just takes a lot longer to contact them when we have to get in touch with you first and have you do that Druid thing.”

“No offence taken,” Deaton said, smiling.

“Yes, there is,” Silveron replied. Turning to Dylan, he said, “Both you and Stiles can contact me directly by dialing 911 on your cell phones. Please make sure that Stiles knows this.”

“Okay,” Dylan said, happy that he had a direct line to the fairies, “I’ll tell him.”

“Good,” Silveron said, “now I must get back to Oberon and let him know of this progress. My people also need to determine exactly what we are going to do to these two, once we catch them and extract their Fay selves from their human hosts.”


	32. Coyote Angry -- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is talked into moderating a panel at the con. Uncomfortable questions are asked. Someone makes an appearance. Things go downhill from there. Enjoy, and thanks for reading. :)

“Please, Stiles, you’re so good at handling people and we really need you,” Tanya wheedled. “Emily would have asked you herself, but she’s still a little freaked out that you’re really here and there are evil hounds and fairies and all. Please help us out.”

Stiles wasn’t saying no because he didn’t want to do it, he just wasn’t sure he could. It was one thing to sit on a panel and answer questions, but to be the moderator and ask the questions was another thing altogether. “I’m a guest,” he said. “Isn’t there some rule that a guest can’t also be a moderator? Anyway, why can’t you get that Ian guy to do it, or maybe Posey?”

“They’re both doing the ‘It’s tough to be an alpha in Beacon Hills’ panel,” she replied.

“What about that British guy?” he asked.

“He’s with Crystal and the others, doing photo shoots,” she said. “You’re the only one free during this panel and our scheduled moderator flaked out on us.”

“Look,” Stiles said, finally, deciding to come clean, “I wouldn’t know the first thing to ask at a panel. Remember, I’m not from this universe.” Realizing what he’d just said, he looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. They were still alone, in the little corner of the backstage area the con staff had set aside to get the guests and themselves ready for panels. The closest people to them were Leonard, another man, and a woman, who Stiles knew were all directors on the show, but they were halfway to the opposite wall. He wondered why they were here, and then remembered that there was going to be a director’s panel in the late afternoon, so they were probably killing time, waiting for that.

“It’s okay,” Tanya replied, running a hand through her long, frizzy hair, “we have a list of questions for you to ask.” She waved a sheaf of paper at him.”

“Those look like a lot of questions,” he said, eyeing the particularly thick stack of papers that Tanya was clutching.

“We created a bunch extra,” she said, “so you wouldn’t run out. All you have to do is to ask the panel members the questions on these pages for the first twenty minutes, then moderate while people from the audience ask questions for the remaining thirty minutes. It’s easy, and I will be there in case you need help.”

“Why can’t you do it then?” he asked.

“Because, while I will be there, I will also be troubleshooting the whole con from the back of the room. People will be coming and going, asking me what to do about one thing or another, so I can’t do that and moderate. Pleeeeeze help us Stiles. We really don’t have anyone else.”

“Okay,” he said, finally, all his arguments having been shot down, “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you so much,” she squealed and gave him a big hug. Then she grabbed him by the hand and dragged him at a run toward the door that lead to the panel room. “Let’s go,” she said, “we’re late.”

=== ===

Stiles was nearly out of breath by the time Tanya led him to the moderator’s podium in a packed room. There must have been at least 150 people, many of them wearing Stile’s Lacrosse jersey, or some form of it, sitting elbow-to-elbow in long rows. There were gasps and cheering as Tanya and he entered the room. Stiles waved, wondering how, with so many con-goers here and at the photo sessions, there were enough people for the other panel.

As Tanya adjusted the microphone and began to speak, Stiles realized that he didn’t know anything about this panel. Tanya had only said there was a panel they needed him to moderate. She never gave it a name or said who was on it. He looked down at the sheaf of papers in his hand and his mouth fell open is shock. “Questions for the Shipping Stiles Panel” was emblazoned across the top of the first sheet, and it listed Holland, Shelley, and Hoechlin as being on the panel, along with brief biographies for each. Oh my God, he thought, what have I gotten myself into, but then he was being pulled forward, toward the podium by Tanya and he heard the cheering of the crowd.

In a daze, he welcomed everyone to the panel and introduced the guests, reading from the prepared bios. They each came out on cue, waving and taking their seats, behind a large table. They all looked very uncomfortable, probably because they knew the guy they were going to be talking about was standing behind the podium. Well, Stiles thought, it’s too late now to do anything about it.

He took a deep breath and dove in. The first few questions were easy warm-ups. Stiles got into the swing of moderating the panel and was feeling comfortable about it when he came to the fifth question. Oh, God, he thought. He really wanted to know the answer to this and he feared it at the same time.

“Holland,” he said, looking straight at the girl with the strawberry blond hair, who was the exact duplicate of his first love, “Does Lydia love Stiles and, if so, how did she get there from not even knowing who he was?”

“Um, good question,” Holland said, sounding nervous. She paused, looking at Stiles, as if considering how best to say it. Finally, she continued carefully, “I think that she is coming around to loving Stiles. I think that she had to get past issues in her own life and grow as a person. She has feelings for him and could love him, but now he’s with someone else. And, if you think about it, it’s her own fault. Here, she had someone who loved her very much and who actually understood her, and she let him get away. Now, she has to figure out how to get him back.”

There was cheering at that. Stiles smiled. It was an answer that sounded really good to him, like maybe in the future, there might be a chance of something happening between the real Lydia and him.

“Well, that’s nice to know,” he said, smiling. He was just about to move on to question number six, when there was a bright flash of light. Everyone covered their eyes. There were cries from the audience, followed by calls of “what was that?” and some cursing. As Stiles regained his sight, he looked around. That had been a very familiar flash of light. It was exactly like the one he had seen when he first appeared in this universe and he had a strong hunch that someone else had suddenly appeared. It took him only a moment to realize who it was. Shelley was bent forward, hands clutching the table, looking like she might barf at any second.

Derek was staring at her, sniffing the air. He looked at Stiles and mouthed the word “Malia” to him.

Oh, shit, Stiles exclaimed to himself. To the audience, he said, “Wow, that was a big light bulb blow out, wasn’t it?” At his words, Malia suddenly looked up at him, an amazed expression on her face.

“I think I need to check on Shelley,” he said into the microphone. “She looks like she’s not feeling well. He then moved as swiftly as he could toward her, without actually running. She had just spotted the audience and had that deer in the headlights look, or perhaps it was a “coyote” in the headlights look. Either way, Stiles knew he had to get to her fast.

He reached her and knelt beside her. She looked pale and shaky. Her hands trembled. She leaned toward him and sniffed. “Stiles,” she breathed, and plastered a kiss squarely on his lips.

There were gasps and screams from the audience, followed by exclamations such as “Damn!” and “Oh, my God!” Stiles knew instantly that this meant big trouble for Dylan, Britt, and Shelley. Shelley was one of Britt’s closest friends and now it looked like Dylan was cheating on Britt with her. How was he going to extract them from this problem? At the same time, he was so happy that Malia was here with him, that he could hardly control himself. He returned her kiss with fervor, for the moment not caring about the consequences.

When she finally drew back from the kiss, Stiles held up one finger, signaling her to wait one minute. He then leaned into her microphone and said to the audience, “I think Shelley isn’t feeling well.” There was laughter and someone replied, “Looks to me like she’s feeling great, Dylan.”

Stiles tried to keep a smile on his face as he said, “I just need to talk with her a minute and make sure she’s okay. We’ll be right back.” With that, he grabbed Malia by the arm and pulled her from the chair and toward the door through which he and Tanya had entered. Behind him, he heard Derek say, “I need to check on her, too.” Then, Holland, God bless her, started talking, asking the audience questions about the show and saying that she was going to tell them funny stories from behind the scenes. He knew, with certainty, that the audience would be occupied until they could get back.

As Stiles reached the door, Tanya suddenly appeared next to Derek. The four of them exited the panel room and entered the hallway behind it. There were several people there, staring at them as they came through the door. “Please leave,” Tanya said to them, “we need privacy.” They stared for a moment, then bolted for the door.

When they had gone, Stiles and Malia embraced again, kissing and hugging one another, and being very liberal with their hands.

“Geeze,” Derek said, looking embarrassed, “do we need to get you guys a room?”

“Sorry,” Stiles said, pulling away, “we haven’t seen each other in a while and I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever see each other again.”

Tanya’s eyes crinkled like she was going to cry. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice catching as she uttered the words. After a moment, she added, “The truth is, I’ve always been a Stalia girl, ever since you two first appeared together. Never mind Stydia and Sterek, it’s Stalia all the way for me.” She dabbed at her eyes.

“What’s she talking about?” Malia asked, pulling her face from Stiles’ chest, where she had been taking deep breaths, like she was trying to breathe him in.

“It’s relationship names,” Stiles explained, holding her tight. Stalia is the name the fans of the TV show give to our relationship. Stydia is for Stiles and Lydia, while Sterek is for Stiles and Derek.

“But, you’re not really having a relationship with all of us at once, are you?” Malia asked, almost panicked.

“No, no, no,” Stiles said, hurriedly, “it’s not just about relationships that people are actually having. It’s about relationships that the fans want people to have.”

“Oh,” Malia said, puzzled. “You and Derek? How strange.”

“It’s not that strange,” Stiles said, defensively. “We’d make a great couple.” Seeing her expression, he hastened to add, “If I weren’t dating you, of course.”

“Humph,” she said, and emitted a low growl, which made Tanya back up a step.

“Oh, sorry,” Malia said, waving at Tanya to come back, “I wasn’t going to bite you or anything. It just pisses me off that people would… what’s the word… ‘ship’ someone with Stiles besides me.”

“You have to remember, sweetie,” Stiles explained, rubbing her back, “that for them, this is just a television show. They don’t understand that we actually exist. To be fair, we’re from another universe. We’re here, in this universe, only because some crazy, evil fairies are trying to wreck everything. So, really we don’t have much of a right to be angry, you know?”

Malia looked at him like he didn’t know what he was talking about. “If somebody is going to pair you with anybody other than me, I’m going to be angry about it,” she said.

This was not going well, Stiles thought.

“God, don’t tell her about the fan fiction, then,” Derek said, with a laugh.

“Fan fiction?” Malia asked, her brow furrowing in puzzlement.

Great, stiles thought, this was going from bad to worse.

“Yea,” Tanya said, “it’s fiction stories that fans write. A lot of it is pretty good. Of course, with Sterek and Stydia there’s a lot of sex involved. She giggled.

Stiles covered his face with one hand and shook his head. Tanya had just thrown gasoline on a fire and now he would have to be the one to douse the flames. He uncovered his face to see Malia fuming mad, her eyes glowing and her fangs beginning to extend.

“Sex?” she said, with a mixture of rage and disgust. “They’re writing stories about Stiles having sex with Lydia and Derek? I’ll teach them to write about my boyfriend having sex with someone else.” She gave a howl or rage and stalked toward the door to the panel room.

Oh, shit! Stiles though. This is really bad.


	33. Coyote Angry – Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long. I had a very hard time writing it. Malia kept being extremely angry and I couldn't figure out why. Once I finally understood why she was so mad, everything fell into place.
> 
> I will try to have the next chapter done by next Sunday.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy! :)

Derek stepped in front of Malia, both hands up in a “Stop” gesture. “Hang on a minute, Malia,” he said. “I know you’re angry, I know you’re confused from being swept up and dropped into another universe, but this isn’t the way to handle it.”

“Get out of my way, Derek,” she breathed in a low, trembling voice that sounded like it was filled with barely controlled rage.

Derek shook his head.

Malia roared at him and charged. Derek, though far more massive than Malia, was also faster. He dodged her and as she flew past, grabbed her arm. The two whirled around and Derek used his superior strength to pull Malia to him and pin her in a massive bear hug between his body and his arms.

She struggled to get away. When that didn’t work, she flailed her head back and forth trying to find some part of him to bite—an arm—a shoulder—anything, but to no avail. Finally, after a long moment, she stopped struggling and stood still, breathing heavily and fuming mad.

Stiles was just about to say something to her, to try and her calm, when she suddenly sniffed the air and said, “Derek, why the hell do you smell like Stiles? His scent is all over you.”

“We’ve had limited beds at Dylan’s house,” Derek said, matter-of-factly. “He and I have been rooming together the last few days.”

“Are you fucking him?” she asked.

Tanya gasped.

“No!” Derek exclaimed. “Why the hell would you ever say that?”

“You’re lying,” she said. “When I get out of this, I’m going to rip both your heads off.” She looked straight at Stiles and snapped her teeth, glaring at him.

For his part, Stiles felt curious more than anything. He needed time to think about this—to sort out what was going on. He shrugged at her and replied, “Remember when you were trying to learn how to control your shift? You said something similar to me then. Remember how I replied? I said, ‘Oddly, you’re not the first person to say that to me.’”

As he spoke, he moved closer to her, until they were nearly face to face, though making sure to stay outside the range of her mouth and hands. He tilted his head slightly. Looking at her. For what, he didn’t know. But he know there was something he needed to see that would help him make sense of this. Why was she so angry? As she seethed at him, he said, “I don’t get it. I know you have a short fuse, but no one has done anything bad enough to get you this worked up. Why?”

She roared at him and then spit in his face.

Tanya covered her mouth with her hand and said, “Oh my God!”

“Now I know something’s really wrong,” Stiles said, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping his face. “You’d never do that to me, no matter what I did to you, much less when I haven’t done anything. There’s something very, very wrong here. What do you think, Derek?”

“I’m with you, Stiles,” Derek said, still holding Malia in a tight grip. “I’ve never seen her act like this. Maybe the swap to this universe messed with her brain or something.”

“I’ll mess with your brain, you lousy, boyfriend-stealing, queer-ass, mangy, wolf!” she screamed.

Stiles was just about to say that they needed to move her away from the entrance to the convention hall, before the audience heard her, when there was the sounds of an opening door and hurrying people, coming from the hall behind them. He turned to see Jeff and a couple of burley security guards running their way.

“What the hell is going on?” Jeff asked, as they reached them. “Who’s making all that noise?”

“Malia,” Stiles said, motioning toward his girlfriend, “she appeared in the middle of the panel and it’s affected her somehow. She’s having serious anger issues.”

Jeff stopped next to Stiles and considered Malia. “Did anyone notice when she arrived?” he asked.

“No,” Stiles replied, “there was the usual flash of light and there she was, right where Shelley had been sitting. I think everyone thought it was just a light bulb blowing or something like that. At least, I hope so.”

“Are you fucking Stiles, too?” Malia demanded, resuming her struggles against Derek’s grip.

“No,” Jeff said, looking shocked, “he’s underage… and you’re his girlfriend.”

“Since when has that ever stopped anyone,” Malia replied, “especially anyone like Derek?”

Derek growled in frustration. Malia snarled back.

“I think something’s wrong with her,” Stiles said to Jeff. “This is not how she usually acts. I think the switch to this universe did something to her.”

“I’m wondering how she got here at all,” Jeff said, staring at Malia. “Margot has been doing spells all morning to stop this sort of thing from happening here.”

“And Margot is tired as hell,” a voice behind them said. Stiles and Jeff turned to see Margot walking toward them, flanked by two more security guards. She was pale and her shoulders slumped. She looked like she was exhausted, dragging her feet and moving slowly.

“Are you alright?” Stiles asked.

“I’ll be okay, once I rest,” she replied, stopping as she reached them. “I’m just beat. I’ve put spells and wards all over this freaking hotel. Space and time in this vicinity are shored up by all magic I can muster. Nothing’s going to accidentally come through… at least as long as the con lasts.”

“Well, Malia made it through,” Stiles said, pointing at his deranged girlfriend.

Margot looked at her curiously. Malia glared back at her and shouted, “Are you fucking Stiles, too?”

“No,” Margot said with a yawn, “I’m more a Derek kind of girl.” She smiled and winked at Derek, who blushed slightly, but smiled back.

“You’re lying,” Malia shouted, “you’re fucking him. You’re all fucking him!”

“What’s wrong with her?” Margot asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Stiles said. “This is not like her at all.”

“Well,” Margot said, seeming to finally focus on the situation, “If she came here, it was intentional, not because of fractures in time and space. “Someone, probably this Korin guy, if we believe Silveron and your friends in the other universe, brought her here deliberately. Given the fact that I have all these spells and wards placed around this building, whoever did it, has to be nearby.”

“You mean, like close by, as in this building?” Derek asked.

Margot nodded.

“Well, whoever it was,” Stiles said, irritated, “they did something wrong.”

“You mean her anger?” Margot asked.

“No, I mean her stunningly nice turn of personality,” Stiles replied sarcastically. “Of course I mean her anger.”

As if on cue, Malia tried to break Derek’s hold on her, snapping at Stiles as she did. With a slight effort, Derek held on to her and got her back under control.

“See?” Stiles said.

“Interesting,” Margot said and came closer.

“Interesting?” Stiles asked, “To me it’s more like psychotic and disturbing, but what do I know?”

Margot shushed him, then stretched out her left hand and passed it in front of Malia’s face, palm flat toward her.” Malia snapped at her, but Derek held firm.

“She’s not only been brought to this universe,” Margot said, tiredly, “she’s also had an anger spell put on her.”

“Well, that explains it,” Dylan said. “Can you take it off?”

“God, I’m tired,” Margot replied, obviously regretting the work she was about to do, “but yes, I can.” She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a baggie containing a dried, greenish white, leafy substance.

Stiles eyed it and said, “Is that… marijuana?”

Margot sighed and shook her head, “Of course not. It’s _Verbena officinalis_ , commonly called vervain. It’s used magically because it has the power to stop outside influences. Margot took out a handful of the vervain, spoke some words that sounded like Latin to Stiles, and threw the vervain at Malia. A purple, phosphorescent haze suddenly flared up around Malia, who convulsed suddenly and then went limp in Derek’s arms.

“What did you do to her?” Stiles asked, hearing panic rise in his voice. Had she killed his girlfriend?

“It’s the effects of the anger spell leaving her body,” Margot said. “It was causing insane amounts of adrenaline to pump through her and when I dispelled it, that flow stopped. She’ll feel washed out for a while. You just need to let her rest.”

Margot smiled at Stiles, but then suddenly stumbled, like she had lost her balance. “Speaking of washed out,” she said, trying to force a smile, “I’m pretty much in that boat, too.”

Tanya reached out a hand to steady her. “We have a couple of suites for con staff to crash in, if they need to,” Tanya said. “I can let you use one of those if you want.”

“That would be great,” Margot said. “I’ve worked entirely too much magic today for my own good. It’s completely drained me and I need a nap. She could use one too.” Margot stretched out a long, shaky finger to point at Malia, as she said this last.

“But, why put an anger spell on Malia?” Stiles asked. He couldn’t figure out what advantage that gave this Korin guy. The truth was, they didn’t know the first thing about him. Until last night’s call with Dylan, none of them had even heard of the guy.

“To distract you guys, of course, silly Stiles,” Margot said, putting her back against a wall and sliding down it until she sat on the floor of the hall. Stiles thought she sounded punch drunk, probably from being so tired.

He considered her words. Aloud, he said, “If Malia were angry, then all of us would be distracted trying to control her, which means what?”

“We’re here and not somewhere else?” Tanya replied.

“Exactly,” Stiles said, “which means that Korin is free to do something that we might have stopped him from doing, otherwise.”

“We were all in the Shipping Stiles session,” Tanya said, her eyes going wide. “You don’t think….”

“No,” Stiles said, “I don’t think he’d try anything in a room packed with people.”

Turning to Jeff, he asked, “where were you guys when you heard the commotion with Malia?”

“We were walking around in the back stage area,” Jeff said.

“That would have been pretty much empty except for you,” Tanya said.

Jeff and Stiles looked at one another. “We need to check this out,” Jeff said.

Stiles nodded.

Jeff motioned and he along with three of the four guards moved toward the doors from which they had come. Stiles turned to Tanya and the fourth guard, saying, “You stay here with Malia and Margot.” Then, motioning to Derek, the two of them sprinted after Jeff and the guards.

When the six of them burst through the door and into the backstage area, they stopped dead in their tracks. Someone had turned the lighting way down. Stiles could hardly see, though he could hear a male voice chanting something in an unknown language that sounded vaguely Celtic or Germanic. After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the light and he understood why Korin had wanted them out of the way. In the middle of the room, a pentagram had been drawn in chalk on the floor. Inside it, three teenage girls knelt. They seemed to be in some kind of trance. Standing with them, looming above them, was a tall figure, dressed in black robes, face covered by a hood. He was the source of the chanting. As Stiles watched in horror, the figure seized one of the girls by the hair. She hardly seemed to notice. It then raised its other arm high above its head. In its hand, a large silver dagger glinted in the dim light.

“No!” Stiles shouted.


	34. Sacrifices, Knotting, and a Staff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long. For some reason, I've had writer's block, but this seems now to have gone away.
> 
> Anyway, in this chapter, Stiles and the gang fight Korin to keep him from sacrificing three girls, answer a question about knotting, and search for a magical staff. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy. :)

The security guards ran forward, even as the figure in the hooded cloak snarled and prepared to drive the knife into one of his victims.

They wouldn’t be in time, Stiles thought. It was impossible for them to cross the space before Korin, killed at least one of those girls. So, Stiles reacted on instinct, not even thinking about it. He pulled the baton from where it hung on his side and pressed the red button. The blade flashed out, while the baton itself remained unextended. He then threw it at the figure as hard as he could. It wasn’t designed to be thrown, but it actually didn’t do badly as a throwing weapon. Stiles watched as it sailed end-over-end, hurtling past the security guards while remaining more-or-less on target. It sank into the figure’s shoulder with a satisfying thwack, and he howled in pain. Dropping his own knife, the figure yanked the blade from his shoulder and threw it aside. Just as the guards closed in on him, he disappeared, literally in a cloud of smoke, accompanied by a loud pop. The guards tackled smoky air, while the girls, who had been held in some sort of trance, collapsed.

Running up behind the guards, Stiles, Derek, and Jeff reached the girls just as they began to stir. “Wha… what happened?” one of them said, raising herself on her elbows and looking around.

Stiles knelt beside the girl, placing one hand on her back. She was pretty, with long, straight brown hair and matching eye color. Stiles thought that she couldn’t be any older then he was, if that. She looked so disoriented and vulnerable. The sight of her and the thought that she had nearly become a murder victim made him tremble. That Korin was able to harm such an innocent person… three such innocent people, in fact, made him loathe Korin even more than he already did. He steadied himself and asked, “Do you remember anything?”

“There was a man,” the girl said, sitting up. He promised to introduce us to the stars, backstage.” She shook her head. “I don’t remember anything else.” None of them did. Whatever magic Korin had used on them had given all three of them partial amnesia. They remembered a man, but couldn’t remember his name or what he looked like. They didn’t even remember leaving the main part of the hotel to enter the room they were in.

Then, they recognized Stiles and Derek and became very excited. It took the two a moment to extract themselves, giving hugs and signing autographs. Then, leaving the girls with Jeff and the security guards, Stiles walked over to where his baton still lay on the floor. Pulling a clean, unused handkerchief from his pocket, he carefully wiped the blood from the blade. He turned to Jeff and said, “I’m going to take this blood to Margot. Maybe she can use it to track Korin, then Derek and I need to get back to the panel, while there’s still a panel to get back to.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jeff said, surveying the situation. “I think we can manage here.”

Stiles gave Jeff a nod, and headed back to Margot, Derek following. When he reached her, he explained what had happened, handed her the bloody cloth, checked on Malia, who was still out cold, and then headed to the panel. He and Derek returned just in time to hear Holland conclude a story with the words, “…and Dylan said, ‘Are you sure that’s Vaseline?’”

The audience roared with laughter. Stiles laughed along with them… pretending that he knew what the joke was about…. In truth, he was anything but amused. Aside from not knowing the first thing about the story Holland had just told, the fact that an evil fairy dude was on the loose and had narrowly missed turning three innocent girls into human sacrifices had pretty much ruined his mood for the entire day. But, he couldn’t let that show. People were expecting Dylan to be cheery and excited about being here. He couldn’t disappoint them. He had to be strong. He had to play his role. So, he put on his best Dylan O’Brien smile and plunged in.

He apologized for their absence, explained that ‘Shelley’ was feeling ill and needed to rest, and then proceeded to answer audience questions about shipping. It all seemed very hollow to him. As he sat there, outwardly smiling and bantering with the audience, his mind was darkening and brooding within. Three innocent girls had almost died… at least a score of people in his own universe had died…. It was all getting out of control. They needed to put an end to it sooner rather than later, before more people were killed at the hands of these horrible beings.

Stiles was pulled out of his reverie by Derek shouting, “Oh, my God!” He looked up to see Derek, face red as a beet, hand covering his nose and mouth, staring at a girl in the audience. The fact that she was holding a microphone clued Stiles into the fact that she must have asked Derek a question. The fact that people throughout the audience were looking uncomfortable, embarrassed, or downright scandalized meant that it must have been one God awful question, but what the hell was it, if it could embarrass Derek and the entire audience?

Holland leaned in to her microphone and said, “You know, sweetie, I think that really embarrassed Tyler here. You might want to ask another question.

The girl looked heartbroken, like her question had been the most important thing in the world to her and they had just thrown it to the floor and stomped on it.

Without thinking, Stiles said, “Sorry, I missed it. What was the question?”

Everyone in the room, except the girl, looked at him like he had lost his mind. For a moment, he thought Derek was going to reach across Holland and punch him. For her part, Holland just covered her face and shook her head.

On the other hand, the girl asking the question was delighted. She said, “I just asked if, when you and Derek have sex, you actually get caught on his knot? The stories say you do, but I don’t know whether to believe them.”

Stiles felt a rush of panic and embarrassment. He felt his face flush and his jaw drop open. Aside from the embarrassing question, she was addressing them by their real names. Had she guessed that they really were Stiles and Derek, and not Dylan and Tyler? Then he realized that wasn’t it. It suddenly occurred to him that the poor girl was having trouble distinguishing reality from fiction. She actually thought that Dylan and Tyler really were Stiles and Derek. The fact that in this case she was correct was completely beside the point.

Leaning into his microphone, he said, “First, sweetie, Derek and I don’t have sex… at least not yet.” He looked at Derek, who arched an eyebrow at him. “Second, I’m quite sure he doesn’t have that anatomical feature.” And Stiles was quite sure. When Scott and Allison first started having sex, he teased Scott about Allison getting caught on his knot. Scott had pointed out, in no uncertain terms, that werewolves didn’t have that particular piece of canine anatomy.

“Not even when he’s in full wolf form?” the girl asked.

That took Stiles aback. He hadn’t thought about what Derek’s wolf form might be like in that department. “I don’t know,” he said. “I mean… I don’t go staring at Derek’s junk and all when he’s a wolf, so I have no idea.” The room howled with laughter. It was a true statement… mostly.

Holland shook her head and said, “Next question, please.”

After a few more questions, the panel finally ended. As they moved off the stage and into the hallway behind, Derek walked up to Stiles and cuffed him on the side of the head. “Oww!” Stiles exclaimed. What…?”

“You absolutely know what that was for and don’t pretend otherwise,” Derek cut him off, sharply. Then with a huff, he walked away.

Rubbing his head, Stiles looked around, trying to find Malia and Margot. Tanya saw him looking and walked over. “We moved Margot and Malia to one of our suites, upstairs,” she said, easily guessing who he was trying to find. “They both needed a good rest, so we thought that was the best thing to do.”

“Good,” Stiles replied, “do I have time to see them before my next panel?”

“Sure,” she said, nodding, “you’ve got a full hour free.”

“Thanks,” he said, and getting the room number from her, tore off to find the nearest elevator.

Someone pointed him in the right direction, telling him to go down a certain long hallway, turn left at the lighted exit sign and then go down another long hallway to the end. He rushed down the first hall, which was perfectly empty and took the turn at full speed, nearly colliding with someone, just after he made the turn.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Stiles said, reaching out to study the person, who had staggered back to avoid the collision. Then he realized who it was and jerked back his hand. It was the girl from the panel, the one who’d asked about knotting. Oh, shit, Stiles thought. Here he was, alone in a long, empty hallway, with a crazy girl. Maybe, he could make an excuse and not have to talk with her. “Sorry, gotta run,” he said and turned on his heels to take off down the hall.

“Stiles, wait!” she shouted, but she said it in such a strange voice that Stiles halted where he stood. Her voice was hollow, distant, and tinny. It sounded like two people speaking together, one over the other, saying the exact same words, but not quite in sync. The hair stood up on the back of his neck, as he turned back around to face the girl.

He froze in shock as he looked at her. Her face was expressionless and slack, the muscles devoid of movement, except for the ones she was using to speak. Her eyes were horrible. The color was gone from the irises, completely drained away, making them a solid white. A shiver ran down his spine. He’d never seen eyes like that other than in a supernatural horror movie. He took a step back. “Who are you?” he asked, his hand going to the baton on his side.

“It’s me, sweetheart,” the strange, double voice said. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Don’t you recognized my voice?” the girl asked. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been such a long time. I’ve missed you so much, my darling boy.”

Then he realized why he recognized the voice. “Ma… mom?” he said.

“Yes, my darling, it’s me,” she replied.

Stiles felt his features harden, even as he realized this must be a trick. His mother had been dead for what… seven years now, at least? This wasn’t her. It was some supernatural thing pretending to be her. Or was it? “How do I know you’re not lying?” he asked in a steely tone.

The girl, who was clearly possessed by something, looked very sad. She reached out a longing hand toward Stiles and said, “After all you’ve been through, I understand why you’re so distrustful.”

“Yea,” Stiles said, falling into his usual tone of snarky sarcasm, “you come at me all Linda Blair and you can’t expect me to exactly trust you. The next thing you know, you’ll be twisting your head around and spewing pea soup all over the place.”

She smiled. “I don’t expect you to trust me, sweetheart,” she said, so here’s proof. “Do you remember that time, when you were four years old? Your father took you to work with him for bring your child to work day. He was on desk duty, so he thought everything would be fine. I dressed you up in your best outfit and what happened? What did he do? He left you to play in a sandbox, watched over by a meter maid, while he and the rest of the sheriff’s office chased after bank robbers.”

Despite himself, Stiles smiled and nodded.

“Ruined the beautiful outfit my mother had given you,” the girl—Claudia—continued, “and I was fit to be tied. Your dad and I had the biggest fight of our marriage over that. I made him sleep in the guest room for nearly a week.”

Stiles nodded, smiling, remembering the incident.

“But, you made a really good friend that day,” she said, looking at him with her strange, colorless eyes.

“Scott,” he said.

She nodded.

“Wait, no one’s ever told that story outside my family” Stiles exclaimed. “After the fight, when my folks made up, they didn’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Claudia nodded.

“Oh my God!” Stiles said. “You really are my mom.”

She nodded again.

In a flood of tears, Stiles embraced her. “Mama,” he said, over and over as he held her.

“Yes, baby,” she replied comfortingly, “I’m here.”

Finally, after he had sobbed into her shoulder for a few minutes, she gently but firmly pushed him away. He wiped the last of the tears from his eyes and asked, “You’ve come to tell me something about all of this, haven’t you?”

“Yes and I don’t have much time,” Claudia replied. “This girl has a weak mind, but I cannot remain very long, even in her. If it weren’t for Oberon and the Fay, I wouldn’t be able to be here at all.”

“What is it?” Stiles asked.

“You will need more magic than what Margot can provide,” Claudia replied. “She’s extremely talented, but she has limits, and Korin has grown very strong. You need something more.”

“You’re going to tell me what it is that I need, right?” Stiles surmised.

“Yes,” she said. “There is a staff that looks like a long walking stick. It has very strong magical powers. You must get it, but there is not much time, before someone else buys it. So, you must act now. It’s vital that you get it. The fairies tell me that it’s made of mountain ash and extremely powerful. It has four stones embedded on the sides near the top; green, yellow, red, and blue. There is a clear stone on the very top. It’s vital that you get it, no matter what, but you don’t have much time. The other buyer is Korin himself. You have to get to it before he does. If he gets it, he may become too powerful for anyone, even a Fay army to stop him. You have to go, now.”

“Where is it?” Stiles asked.

“A Hoodoo root doctor named Mama Jones has it,” she replied. She handed him a small piece of paper with an address on it. “She owns Mama Jones Candle and Incense store at that address. Oberon has told her that you will be coming for the staff, but if Korin arrives first, he will either buy it or take it from her and you will lose everything. With it, he is unstoppable. Now go, my darling… fly like the wind!”

The girl crumpled into a heap at Stiles’ feet, even as he turned on his heels and ran for the front of the hotel. He hoped she would be okay.

Stiles plunged through the hotel’s inner corridors, looking for an exit into the main lobby. He found it and raced through to the front doors, nearly bowling over astounded con-goers and others, before bursting out through the doors and onto the street. He flagged down a taxi and jumped into the passenger seat, giving the driver the address his mom had given him. “How long will it take to get there?” he asked.

“’bout thirty minutes,” the driver replied.

“There’s another three hundred bucks in it for you if you can make it in under fifteen,” Stiles said.

The driver’s eyes widened and he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. The taxi roared into traffic, the force of acceleration shoving Stiles against the back seat. “Better put on your seat belt, kid,” the driver said. Stiles did.

Thirteen minutes and fifty seconds later, the taxi pulled up in front of a shabby little store in an equally shabby little strip mall, located in one of the seedier sections of LA. Stiles handed the man three crisp C-notes, told him to wait and keep the meter running, then ran for the shop.

He burst through the doors and the five people inside looked up at him like he was a mythical unicorn come out of the woods. It didn’t take him long to figure out why. He was the only white guy in the place. The girl behind the counter, along with three of the four customers were African American, while the fourth was a middle-aged Hispanic woman. All of them looked at him like he was the oddest thing they had ever seen.

The girl, who couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen, leaned back and looked through a doorway that was covered by a curtain made of colorful beads. She apparently spotted the person she was looking for through the beads, because she called, “Mama, that white man they said was comin is here.” She turned back to Stiles and held up one finger in a gesture of wait.

Stiles nodded understanding. As he waited, he looked around the small shop. It looked like the strangest five-and-dime store that Stiles had ever been in. There was the usual low-end metal shelving that typically held things like tooth paste, makeup, and the like, but here seemed to hold a strange assortment of oils, candles, and incense, along with roots and herbs. On the shelves down part of one wall, there were large octagon-shaped candy jars, the kind that have the lids on one of the diagonals of the octagon and usually hold gum and candy sold by the piece. Instead of chocolates and peppermints, however, these contained a variety of roots, herbs, and other plant materials. Along another wall were large, square jars with stones in them. Closest to him, directly across from the cash register he was standing in front of, were vials and vials of oils. Stiles looked at them, curiosity getting the better of him. He reached out to touch one of them.

“That be devil’s shoe string oil,” an elderly voice behind him said. “It’s used to bind and trip up the devil or human enemies. Slows them down and makes em go astray.”

“Does it work on fairies?” Stiles asked picking up the bottle and turning back toward the cash register. A very elderly African-American woman stood behind the counter, beside the girl. She looked like she was as old as the hills. He could tell she had once been tall and perhaps even beautiful, when she was young. Now she was bent with age. Her dark eyes were cloudy with cataracts, and she was so wrinkled that there was hardly a patch of flat skin on her. She wore a long, colorful dress, mostly red in color, but with swirls and splashes of blues, greens, and whites as well. Her head was covered with a wrapping made from the same material. She clutched a walking stick in one hand that was made of white wood with a carved top in the form a swan’s head.

“Don’t see why not,” the old woman said, eyeing Stiles from head to toe.

“Mama Jones?” Stiles asked, looking into those, cloudy eyes.

“Dat’s me,” she said, eyeing him. “You be the boy Oberon told me about.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes ma’am,” Stiles replied, placing the devil’s shoestring oil on the counter. “Do you have it?”

“Course I have it,” She said, impatience in her voice. She turned toward the girl standing next to her and said, “Child, go get it. And hurry, I don’t want it in my store any longer than it needs be.”

The girl hurried through the doorway, to the back of the store.

Stiles noticed that a couple of the customers, the Hispanic woman and an older man with graying hair, had put down the items they had been looking at and were easing toward the door. Mama Jones must have noticed it too, because she said in a voice that carried throughout the little store, “Best you all leave for a while. Mama got some business that ain’t for the fainthearted.” They didn’t need another warning. They all bolted for the door. As the girl returned carrying something long, wrapped in a long black cloth, Stiles found himself alone with her and Mama Jones in the now deserted store.

“Here it be,” Mama said, taking it from the girl.

Holding the still wrapped staff, she opened the cash register and reached in, pulling out a ten-dollar bill and handing it to the girl, who looked at it wide-eyed. “Go down the street and get you an ice cream cone, Little Bit,” she said to the girl. “Come back in 15 minutes. Oh, and put out the closed sign on your way out.” The girl nodded, then ran out the door, clutching the bill in one hand and flipping the sign to “Closed” with the other.

Now, Stiles was alone in the shop with the old woman.

Mama Jones looked at him and said, “You know what this is?”

“It’s a magical staff,” Stiles replied. “I was told that it would help us defeat Korin and that under no circumstances could I let it fall into his hands.”

She snorted and unwrapped the staff. It was about five feet long, straight, and a light brown color. It had four crystals embedded on the sides, near the top, equidistance from one another. The crystals were green, yellow, red, and blue. They weren’t uniform in size or shape, nor were they faceted, like gem stones, but instead, they were polished smooth like ill-formed cabochons from a woman’s broach. On top was a nearly round, clear stone.

“Magical staff?” Mama Jones repeated, cackling with laughter. “Magical staff my hind leg.”

She motioned for him to come close, and then whispered in a fierce, but low voice, “Boy, this is the magical staff. This here thing was made by the ancient druids from a branch that fell off of Yggdrasil. You be knowing what Yggdrasil is?” She gazed at him with narrowed, cloudy eyes. She must have been drinking coffee just before he came in, because he could smell the bitter after-scent of it on her breath.

“The World Tree in Norse mythology,” Stiles replied. “It was the tree the Norse god Odin hung from for nine days and nine nights in order to gain true wisdom. It was a Rowan tree—mountain ash.”

“That right, my boy,” she replied approvingly, nodding her head and her mouth forming a broad smile, showing yellow-stained teeth. “The druids took the branch that fell off and used the wood to make several magical things. Part of it they formed into this here staff.” She tapped the staff, lying on the counter in front of her.

“They put five gem stones in it,” she continued, pointing them out to Stiles, “one for each of the natural elements. Here be a green emerald for earth, there be a yellow sapphire for air, a red ruby for fire over here, and a blue sapphire for water.” Her long finger, bent and twisted from what Stiles guessed was arthritis, lingered lovingly over this last stone, caressing it, fondly. Then, she finally moved on.

“The top, here,” she said, pointing at the nearly round lump of stone on the head of the staff, “this be a diamond and it’s for the fifth element, aether, the one that combines all them other elements. Each of the elemental stones here can work the magic of that element. You point that side of the staff toward the target and think what it is you want the staff to do and it does. You use the stone on top for magic that’s of more than one element or not, strictly speaking, elemental at all. You use the top stone the same way, just point the top of the staff toward the target and think what it is you be wanting the staff to do. It’ll do it.”

Stiles smiled and nodded, reaching for the staff. Mama Jones slapped his hand away. “Not so fast, young’un,” she said, “you gotta pay me first.”

“Oh, sorry,” he said, confused, “I thought you were helping Oberon. You’re not?”

“I is helping him,” she said, “by selling you this here staff. Mama got bills to pay and great-grandchildren to help provide for. Oberon and you want this staff, you gots to pay for it.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, “the old lady was obviously right. He did need to give her compensation. “How much do I owe you?”

“Twenty-five-thousand dollars,” she replied, without batting an eye.

Stiles mouth hit the floor. “Twenty-five-thousand dollars,” he tried to say back, but no sound managed to come out of his shocked mouth. His vocal cords just wouldn’t work.

“You needs to understand,” Mama Jones continued, obviously seeing his distress, “this is a major artifact. It’s one of a kind and really… I mean really powerful.”

“But, I don’t have twenty-five-thousand dollars,” Stiles finally managed.” He knew he must look desperate, and he was. He had nowhere near that kind of cash.

“I takes all kinds of major credit cards,” Mama Jones replied, smiling and tapping the credit card symbols on the side of her cash register.

“How do I know it even works?” Stiles asked, staring down at the staff. It looked plenty authentic, but that didn’t mean it would work in a pinch.

He looked up to see a very angry looking Mama Jones move her gaze from the store windows back to him. “I thinks you should try it on that one there and then decide,” she said, handing him the staff and pointing toward the windows.

Following her finger, he saw a black-cloaked figure staring in at them through the shop windows. His face was covered, except for red glowing eyes. It was Korin. “Oh, fuck,” Stiles said, and grabbed the staff.


	35. Staff Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles fights Korin, pays a lot of money for a stick, and gets a lift back to the hotel. I hope you enjoy. Also, as promised, the chapter after this one will be a Stalia chapter.

As Stiles took the staff and turned to face the front of the store, Korin rushed through the front door, his red eyes sparking fire. He raised his hand and whispered something that Stiles could not understand, but sounded like some kind of strange language. Immediately, half the items on the store shelves nearest the door leapt into the air and hurtled toward Stiles and Mama Jones.

Stiles raised the staff and turned the yellow stone toward Korin. He thought of a shockwave in the air forcing back the objects coming at him. Instantly, a wave of force that looked like it was from a massive explosion shot from the staff, stopped the items in mid-air, and sent them flying back toward Korin, who tried to shield against them, but was too late. The shock wave hit him, lifting him off his feet and smashing back through the glass door. The blast wave then collided with the storefront, shattering it, completely. Glass, bricks, and store goods sprayed out onto the sidewalk and parking lot. The taxi driver sat in his car, so shocked that he didn’t move, as candles, boxes, and other objects landed about his cab.

Korin, however, immediately jumped up, brushing off glass and brick dust, and howling in rage. He pointed his hand toward Stiles and five streams of fire leapt from his fingertips.

Stiles twisted so that the blue stone faced Korin and thought of a torrent of water, which immediately sprang from the stone, extinguishing the flames and slamming into Korin, knocking him backward so that he hit the concrete sidewalk with a thud.

Staggering to his feet, he motioned with his hand and all of the items on the shelves nearest Stiles flew at him. Stiles tried to ward them, but he didn’t have time and several dozen bottles of magical oils smashed into him. The force sent him sprawling and knocked the staff from his hand. It clattered across the tile floor of the shop, Stiles scrambling after it on all fours.

Korin reached his hand forward and the staff rattled across the floor, his magic pulling it toward him. Stiles tried in vain to reach it, but it was always just out of his reach. In horror, Stiles realized that Korin was about to get the staff.

“Like hell you will!” Mama Jones exclaimed. She raised her walking stick and the swan’s eyes glowed a brilliant blue. The staff turned and flew back into Mama Jones’ other hand, and she tossed it to Stiles, just as he stood up and reached for it.

“So, old woman,” Korin said in a raspy, whispery voice that seemed in some strange way, familiar to Stiles, “you’ve chosen your side, have you? I would have paid you far better than this boy for that staff.” He indicated Stiles with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Money ain’t no good if there’s no world left to spend it in,” Mama Jones replied.

“I’m going to make you pay for that decision, hag,” he said, raising his hand. A glowing ball of fire formed at his fingertips and began to swirl in front of his hand.

Stiles started to move sideways, to place himself between Korin and Mama Jones, when he heard a crunch beneath his feet. He looked down to see a broken candy jar, with what looked like a bunch of small, square-cut nails amid the glass. The jar lid was nearby. The words ‘Coffin Nails,’ written on a piece of paper in clear, careful handwriting was taped to it.

Stiles stepped back, pointed the top of the staff at the mass of nails and imagined them flying point first at Korin. They leapt into the air and hurled themselves at the fiend, just as he pulled back his hand to throw the fireball at Mama Jones. Seeing the rush of nails, his magic faltered, the fireball disappeared, and so did Korin, though not before the first few nails had hit home. Stiles had the satisfaction of hearing him scream just before he vanished.

Seeing that the nails were about to skewer the cabbie, Stiles thought “halt” and the nails stopped, about six inches from the cab driver’s head. Stiles thought “drop” and they fell harmlessly to the pavement.

The cab driver, who was white as a sheet, stared at Stiles for a long moment, apparently too shocked to say anything. Then, he put the cab in gear, and tore out of the parking lot, peeling rubber halfway to the road.

Stiles sighed at the thought of losing his ride and turned back toward Mama Jones, just as her face broke into a huge smile.

“Damn good move, child,” she said, cackling with laughter. “Let that old buzzard have fun yanking them coffin nails outta his hide.” She slapped her knee, apparently delighted by the thought. “Them iron nails will cause him a lotta trouble, him being Fay and all.”

“I hope so,” Stiles replied, looking about him at the carnage that was Mama Jones’ shop. “Sorry about your store,” he said.

“Don’t you worry about that, now,” she said. “If I can borrow that staff of yours for a second, I think I can get it all back the way it was. Stiles handed her the staff. She raised it and moved the point about the room. As she did so, all of the items that had been scattered and smashed about the store rose into the air, restoring themselves into the way they had been before the fight, before easing themselves back into neat stacks and rows on the shelves. Finally, the front of the store replaced itself brick by brick and shard by shard of glass, until it was perfectly restored.

When she was finished, Mama Jones wiggled the staff at him and said, “Now, child, please tell Mama that you is going to buy this damn thing so I can get it the hell out of my shop. It attracts too many folks like that Korin dude for me to want it around here for long.”

Stiles reached into his pocket and pulled out Dylan’s wallet. He drew out one of Dylan’s credit cards, a nice shiny black one, and plopped it down on the counter. To his surprise, the purchase cleared without the slightest hiccup. Stiles didn’t know whether to be happy or to warn Dylan to be careful with his cards.

As Stiles signed Dylan’s name to the receipt, Mama Jones pulled out a small black bag and laid it on the counter next to the staff.

“What’s that for?” Stiles asked, pointing at the bag.

“That’s the carrying bag for the staff,” she replied, calmly, like it should be perfectly obvious.

Stiles picked up the bag. It felt like really good quality felt and it had a draw string at the mouth to keep it closed. It was about six or seven inches wide and perhaps nine or ten inches deep. “Maybe I’m missing something,” Stiles said, looking from the bag to Mama Jones, “but a ten-inch-deep bag can’t hold a five foot long staff.”

“Try putting the staff in that there bag and see what happens,” Mama Jones said, a wry smile playing on her face.

Stiles shrugged and opened the bag. He slipped the bottom of the staff into the bag. To his amazement, it slid all the way down and disappeared completely. Stiles stared at the bag, his mouth open. He ran his hand under the bottom of the bag, as if he thought he might sense the presence of the too long staff, protruding from the bottom, or something. He reached his hand into the bag and his arm slid into it up to his elbow.

“It’s a magic bag for a magic staff,” Mama Jones explained. The bag will hold anything that’ll fit through its mouth. Just put it in. When you need it, just stick your hand in the bag and think about what you need. It will appear in your hand.”

“Wow,” Stiles said, moving his arm in and out of the bag. “How much stuff can it hold?”

Mama Jones shrugged. “I don’t rightly know,” she said. “Stories say it can hold up to ten feet by ten feet, by ten feet of stuff, as long as it fits through the mouth of the bag… but nothing living, as they ain’t no oxygen in there.”

“Cool,” Stiles said, smiling. “Now, I guess I need to call a cab to get me back to the hotel.

“What da hell do you need with a cab, child?” she asked, impatience and acid tinging her voice. “You got yourself the ultimate magic staff. Use it to transport yourself to wherever it is you want to go.”

“It’ll do that?” Stiles asked, astonished.

“’course it will,” Mama Jones said, shaking her head. Try it.

Stiles reached in the bag and thought of the staff. He suddenly felt it in his hand. He pulled it from the bag. Holding it securely, he thought of it transporting him back to the hotel. The air shimmered around him and he was suddenly back in the hallway where he had run into the girl who was possessed by his mom. No one else was in the hallway. He looked around, smiling. He stored the staff in the bag, which he then tied to his belt, and ran for the elevators. If he hurried, he still had time for a quick check on Malia and Margot before his next panel.


	36. An Interlude... with Deer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting new chapters, but I moved and started a new job. Now that that's done and over with, I can get back to writing.
> 
> This is the "Stalia" chapter I promised a couple of chapters back. As I've said before, this book is not really about ships, it's about the plot, but there is a little bit of shipping as a "B" storyline, with Stiles exploring where he stands in relationships and sexual interests. I view Stiles as entirely too young to make hard and fast decisions on these, preferring to let him explore the possibilities without reaching conclusions.
> 
> We are now approaching the end of the book, with only five or six (maybe seven) chapters left to go, so the remainder will focus on the central story and resolving loose ends.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy. :)

Stiles stepped out of the black Escalade and extended his hand. Malia accepted it and followed him out, standing beside him. The driver closed the door and turned to Stiles. “Mr. O’Brien,” he said, handing Stiles a small card, “here is my cell number. Call me when you’re ready to leave and I’ll pick you up here at the entrance.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, smiling and pocketing the card, “thanks.”

The driver nodded and got into the driver’s seat, pulling the SUV slowly away from the curb.

“Why did he call you Mr. O’Brien?” Malia asked, following the big car with a curious eye.

“He thinks I’m Dylan,” Stiles replied, gently rubbing the palm of Malia’s hand with his thumb. He brought her palm to his face and kissed it. “God, I’ve missed you,” he said.

She nodded and moved closer to him, closing the gap between them, until their bodies touched. She nuzzled his hair and he practically shivered with delight, feeling her breath on his neck and scalp. “Why does he think you’re Dylan?” she asked.

“Um…,” he began, a bit distracted, “I’m pretending to be Dylan to cover the fact that the real Dylan is spending some quality time with my dad in our universe, while we’re stuck here in his.”

“Why do you need to do that?” she asked, running her moist lips along his neck.

“Uh…, what?” he asked, unable to concentrate.

“Why do you need to do that? She repeated, stepping back, but keeping hold of Stiles’ hand.

Stiles shook his head to clear his thoughts, then responded, “Because, it would freak out the entire world if they knew that some evil Fay bastards were swapping people between universes in order to wreck those universes.” He closed the gap between them again, kissing her, slowly, gently, as their bodies touched. She returned the kiss. Her smell was incredible. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her scent until they were together again. Now, he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Does that mean I have to pretend to be this Shelley Hennig girl?” Malia asked, pulling away slightly, a frown clouding her face.

“Yea,” Stiles replied, stifling a moan of regret as she moved away, “that would help a lot. But, don’t worry, it won’t be hard. Shelley is really easy-going and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble at all pretending to be her.”

Malia looked dubious.

“Never mind that right now,” Stiles said, trying to change the subject. "Let’s enjoy dinner and then we can talk about whatever you want to.” He gestured to the glass-paned double doors ahead of them. Banshee Con had wrapped for the night and Stiles had wanted to take Malia somewhere special for dinner. Now, they were standing in a parking lot on a mountainside north of Los Angeles, a large rustic building that looked more like a country store than one of the best restaurants in the LA area looming in front of them.

“What is this place?” Malia asked, moving away from Stiles and looking at the building.

“It’s the Saddle Peak Lodge,” Stiles said, smiling and walking to the door. “I picked it because there’s something on the menu I think you’ll like.” He winked at her and opened one of the big doors by its antler-shaped handles, motioning for her to enter.

The interior continued the rustic “hunting lodge” theme, with stuffed animal heads on the walls and a fishing rod above the fireplace. “This is really nice,” Malia said, holding Stiles’ hand as they were shown to their seats. Stiles helped Malia into her chair and then sat beside her, pulling her hand back into his as soon as he sat down. She smiled and pulled his hand to her lips, giving it a long, gentle kiss.

“Welcome to Saddle Peak Lodge,” the waitress said, smiling and handing them menus. She was young and pretty, with long dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, which bobbed as she spoke. “I’ll give you a chance to look at the menu and wine list, and be back in a minute to get your order,” she said, before turning and leaving them to peruse the selections.

“Let’s get a bottle of wine,” Stiles said, pointing to an item on the wine list that had caught his attention.

“We can’t,” Malia said, frowning, “we’re too young.”

“That’s the beauty of being in this universe,” he said, giving her another wink, “Dylan is twenty-three and Shelley is twenty-eight.”

“Oh,” Malia said, looking puzzled. Then she realized what Stiles was saying and she repeated, “Ooooooh,” drawing it out. She smiled and winked back at Stiles, who almost broke up laughing at the cuteness of it.

“What food should I get?” Malia asked, looking at the menu. Then, she gasped and leaned in toward Stiles, saying sotto voce, “Do you see these prices?”

Stiles grinned and gave her a peck on the cheek. “It’s fine,” he said, “I’m working as an actor, I make a good salary, and I can afford it.”

“Oh,” she said, a bit wide-eyed as she took in the information, “so, we don’t need to worry about money?”

“Nope,” Stiles replied, happy that for once, he could take his girlfriend out for a really nice meal without worrying about the cost. He could definitely get used to this situation.

“Do you like it?” Malia asked, continuing to scan the menu. “The acting, I mean.”

“I do,” Stiles replied, “I like it a lot.” Then, he added, “Let me order for you. I have something picked out specifically for you that I know you’ll love.” He smiled at her, reassuringly.

She smiled back and nodded.

When the waitress returned, Stiles said, “We’ll have a bottle of the Bergstrom Pinot Noir. The lady” (he indicated Malia) “will have the venison chops and I’ll have the elk tenderloin.”

“How do you want those cooked?” the waitress asked.

“Medium rare for the lady and medium for me.”

“Very good Mr. O’Brien,” she said, smiling, “we’ll have that out for you shortly.”

Thanks,” Stiles said, never taking his eyes off of Malia. She was utterly beautiful.

“So,” Malia said, looking Stiles up and down, appraisingly, “this whole acting thing seems to be working for you.”

“Yea,” Stiles replied, “it’s great. The only bad guys I need to worry about are the ones in the script.” Of course, that wasn’t true. He had to worry about the Fay bastards he’d mentioned earlier, especially the bastard in chief, Korin. But, still, it wasn’t something he wanted to acknowledge tonight. This evening was for having a wonderful dinner with his girlfriend. Korin and his evil plans would wait for tomorrow.

“I always thought I’d follow in my dad’s footsteps and become a cop,” Stiles continued, musing, half to himself, “but now I’m not so sure. I really like acting and I’m good at it.”

“That’s great,” Malia said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Can I ask how well it pays?”

Stiles whispered an amount in her ear. Then added in a slightly louder voice, “Per episode.”

“You’re kidding!” she exclaimed. Stiles shushed her as people looked over from nearby tables.

“Sorry,” she apologized in a whisper, “I didn’t mean to shout, but seriously, that’s a lot of money, and you say it’s per episode?”

“Yep,” Stiles said, taking her hand under the table and caressing it.

“How long does it take to film an episode?” she asked, a curious expression on her face.

“A week,” he replied, “but we film in blocks of two or three episodes at a time, so any givenepisode is actually filmed over two or three weeks.”

“Wow?” she said. “How many episodes?”

“This season has 20 episodes,” he replied, “but hopefully, we’ll both be back in our own universe long before I have to film all of those.”

“I hope so,” she said, a concerned look crossing her face.

“Don’t worry,” Stiles said, rubbing her back, gently, “I want to get back as much as you do, but since we’re here, we might as well enjoy ourselves.”

“Yes,” Malia replied. She smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Stiles was about to ask what her concerns were, when she suddenly asked, “What did you order for me?”

“Oh,” he said, “I ordered you the venison chops.”

“What’s that, she asked.”

“Venison is deer meat,” he said, smiling from ear to ear.

“Really?” she asked, her eyes wide. She actually licked her lips in anticipation.

“Yep,” Stiles replied, “I know how much you like it and it took me forever to find a restaurant that served it, but….”

His words were cut off, when she planted a huge, sloppy wet kiss on his lips. He leaned in and savored the moment. When they drew apart, Malia’s eyes glistened with the slightest trace of tears. “I love you so much,” she said.

Stiles smiled. Note to self, he thought, remember to arrange more moments like this with my girlfriend.

Then, she grabbed his lapel and pulled him close to her, saying, “And I can’t wait to get you home.” There was almost a feral growl in her voice and Stiles saw the slightest flash of blue light in her eyes.

Stiles forced a bigger smile to his face. Second note to self, he thought, remember to stop and pick up condoms on the way home tonight.

“Can’t wait,” he said.

Then their wine arrived and they were lost in the whole uncorking ceremony and in sampling the wine. Their dinner arrived soon after.

=== ===

“That was really good, sweetie,” Malia said. Stiles held her hand as they made their way up the front walk of Dylan and Britt’s house. The driver had dropped them off in front of the house and now they walked toward the front door, arm in arm, Stiles holding Malia’s arm with one hand and a plastic pharmacy bag holding condoms in the other. They were only slightly inebriated.

“You really liked the venison, right?” Stiles said, eyeing her.

“Sweetie, you’ve asked me that like five times. I told you, I adored it. It was even better than raw meat off a fresh kill,” she said, smiling at him, “and that’s saying something.

They reached the door and Stiles kissed her. He then fumbled for his keys and almost had them out of his pocket, when the door swung open and Britt Robertson stared at them from the doorway. “You know,” Britt said, a wry smile on her face, “with all the supernatural characters that keep showing up here, I’m beginning to think that I need to rename this place ‘Britt’s boarding house and werewolf emporium.’”

Stiles laughed.

“Who’s she?” Malia asked.

“Malia, this is Britt Robertson, Dylan’s girlfriend” Stiles replied, introducing her to Britt. “Britt, this is Malia, my girlfriend.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Britt said, eyeing the girl with undisguised interest.

“Yea,” Malia replied. “Dylan stayed with the Sheriff and me. The last I saw of him, he was doing great.”

“That’s great to hear,” Britt replied, “Stiles has been letting me talk to him on his magic telephone, but it’s good to get a firsthand report.” She smiled and motioned for them to come inside.

“Did Margot come by?” Stiles asked.

“Yes, Britt said, “she showed up with Derek and Liam. She did all kinds of magic things around the house to keep the badies away. So, hopefully, we won't have any black hounds or goblins show up.”

“Good,” Stiles said.

“Though I have to admit,” Britt continued, a slight pout on her face, “I’m going to miss the naked guys showing up.”

Stiles snorted. “I think you’ll cope,” he said.

“Naked guys?” Malia asked, surprised.

“Yea,” Britt said, laughing, “both Derek and Liam showed up in the shower, without clothes.” She waggled her eyebrows, making Stiles feel uncomfortable.

Malia laughed. “Well, Derek’s my cousin,” she said, “but Liam might be nice to look at naked.”

“Under age,” Stiles said, somberly.

“Yea, but we’re both ‘under age’ too, so what’s the difference?” Malia asked. Then, she continued without waiting for a response, “But, you know, the only guy I’m really interested in seeing naked is this one.” She grabbed Stiles butt.

He jumped, then flinched at the thought of someone taking liberties with his body like that. Is this what women went through with men, he wondered? If so, he could easily understand why they didn’t like it.

Britt seemed a little embarrassed by it too. She immediately changed the subject. “Hey,” she said, grabbing a large envelope off the coffee table and handing it to Stiles, “the studio sent you some new scripts.”

“Cool,” Stiles said, opening the envelope and pulling out three pristine scripts. Malia moved in close beside him to see them. “’Condition Terminal,’ ‘A Novel Approach,’ and ‘Required Reading,’ he read. “Sounds interesting. I’ll take these with me tomorrow and start prepping them between panels at Banshee Con.” He also noted with approval that there was a call sheet in the envelope.

“Hey,” Britt said, pulling his attention from the scripts, “can I use the magic phone to call Dylan? I have to leave early tomorrow and I wanted to talk with him one last time before I go.”

“Leave?” Stiles and Malia said at once.

“Yea,” Britt replied, “I have to go back to Florida tomorrow to finish my movie. Filming resumes on Monday.”

“Oh,” Stiles replied, remembering that Britt was only in town for a week, while filming on her latest movie was shut down because of storms and flooding in south Florida. That week was nearly up and he had forgotten all about it.

“Yea,” Britt said to Malia, “my movie got delayed for a week because of weather. I have to fly back to Miami tomorrow, because filming starts back bright and early on Monday morning. We’re a week behind, so it’s going to mean a lot of extra hours trying to catch up.” She made a sad face.

“Sorry to see you go,” Stiles said, giving her a hug. “I know we got off to a rough start, but you’ve been a good friend and ally to us refugees from another universe and we really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Britt said, hugging him back. “Look, after I leave, you and Malia can have the master bedroom, so Derek doesn’t have to sleep on the couch in the study.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked, eyeing her carefully to make certain she wasn’t just trying to be nice.

“Absolutely,” Britt said, smiling and kissing him on the cheek, “consider it an olive branch for the whole, kicking you in the balls thing.”

Stiles shuddered at the sudden memory recall and nodded.

“Olive branch accepted,” he said.

“You kicked Stiles in the balls?” Malia repeated, looking concerned.

“Yea,” Britt said, sheepishly, “I was upset that he had been gawking at me naked, when I was in the shower.

“He was gawking at you naked?” Malia asked. “Maybe I should kick him in the balls.”

“How about, let’s neither of you kick me in the balls, okay?” Stiles said, embarrassed and exasperated.”

“Yea,” Britt said, snickering, “It was a misunderstanding and I think he’s been punished enough. Besides,” she added, winking at Malia, “I wouldn’t want to ruin your fun tonight.”

“Yea, there is that,” Malia said. Rubbing Stiles back and leaning in for a kiss.

As he kissed Malia, Stiles pulled the phone from his pocket and handed it to Britt. When he pulled back from the kiss, he added, “Enjoy the chat. Just leave the phone on the kitchen counter when you’re done. I’ll get it later tonight.”

“Thanks,” she said, and turned toward the master suite.

When she had gone, Malia looked at Stiles and said, “Now, it’s time for us to spend some time together.” She grabbed him by the belt buckle and pulled him toward her. “Where’s our bedroom?” she asked, just before planting another kiss on his lips.


	37. A Name without a Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is a short chapter to advance the storyline a little bit. I hope to have a much longer chapter posted by late on Sunday night.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“You spent twenty-five-thousand dollars of my money on a stick!” Dylan screamed into the phone, feeling his face flush. Twenty-five-thousand dollars was a lot of money, more than Dylan made for an episode. That was more than a week of 16 and 18 hour days, of pouring his heart and soul into his performances, and this… this… kid… this seventeen-year-old hyperactive little bastard was spending it like it was going out of style.

“It’s a really powerful magic staff?” Stiles replied, weakly, almost like it was a question.

“For twenty-five-thousand bucks, the damn thing better stand up and sing the national anthem at the next Mets game,” Dylan shouted.

“What’s wrong?” Stilinski asked, hurrying in from his dining room. Shelley Hennig was just behind him. The two had been setting the table for dinner, while Dylan cooked. Now, their task abandoned, they both stared at him, worried expressions on their faces.

“Your son,” Dylan replied, heatedly, “just spent twenty five thousand dollars of my money on a piece of wood!”

Stilinski’s eyebrows show up and he squirmed uncomfortably as he struggled to make excuses for his son, eventually replying, “Maybe he had a good reason?”

“Seriously?” Dylan said, staring at him. “What ‘good reason’ can there be to spend twenty-five grand on a stick?”

Then, Dylan heard Stiles’ voice say, “Put me on speaker phone.” He punched the button harder than he should have and held the phone out flat so the other two could better hear the conversation.

“Go ahead,” Dylan said, trying to get hold of his temper, “you’re on speaker.”

“Thanks,” Stiles replied in a shaky voice, “look, Silveron talked to me through a possessed person and told me to get that staff at all costs. I was told that it’s really powerful and that if Korin got it then it was game over. It was in an old woman’s Hoodoo shop and the money was the only way to get it short of stealing it.”

Dylan made a face. “Well,” he said, unable to worm his way out of the implication that Stiles was merely doing what the Fay had instructed him to do. Angry or not, Dylan had to admit that the kid had a valid reason. “Did you at least try to negotiate the price down a little?” he asked.

“No, I didn’t have time,” Stiles said, sounding adamant. “Korin showed up and tried to kill both me and the old woman.”

“What happened?” Stilinski asked, looking worried. “Are you alright?”

“Yea,” Stiles replied, “I kicked his ass—sent him off with a bunch of coffin nails in his skin.”

“Coffin nails,” Stilinski said, questioningly, “how the hell did you have coffin nails?”

“The old lady had them in her shop,” he replied. “She had all kinds of magic stuff, including a whole big jar of coffin nails.”

Dylan could hear the smile in Stiles voice as he explained it.

Stilinski had a bemused look on his face, and shook his head slightly. “Whatever works, I suppose,” he replied.

“Okay,” Dylan said, sourly, “I believe you, but do you know who exactly this Korin guy is possessing? We can’t move forward with Silveron’s plan until we know.”

“No, unfortunately,” Stiles replied. “After our fight at the Hoodoo shop, he didn’t show up again all weekend. The trouble is that when he is around, he wears a hood, so we can’t see his face, and no one has been able to get close enough to him to pull it off.”

“Huh,” Dylan said, musing. “That must mean that you know him, right? Why else would he need to hide his face from you?”

“That’s what we figure, too,” Stiles said. “He has to be someone who has access to the studio and pretty much comes and goes as he pleases. We just don’t know who, yet.”

“What does Jeff think? Dylan asked.

“He says he doesn’t trust anyone,” Stiles replied, “but I know he’s been keeping a close eye on the crew. They can pretty much go anywhere they want and nobody says a word, you know?”

“Yea,” Dylan said, “that’s the obvious choice. It makes a lot of sense.”

Dylan thought for a minute, then added, “So, how’s filming?”

“Great,” Stiles replied, “I’m having a blast. We’ve been taking a break to go to Banshee Con, but we start up again tomorrow morning. I’m looking forward to getting back to it.”

“Cool,” Dylan said, thinking it was anything but cool. He didn’t know why he felt so jealous. This kid could hardly take his place. When he got back to his own universe, he’d still have his role as Stiles and the movie roles he was signed up for. So, why did he feel this way—like he was afraid that everyone on set would compare him with Stiles and decide that Stiles was the better actor? Aloud, Dylan said, “Look, do whatever it takes to find out who this guy is. When you do, call us immediately. We’ll move in on Sereetha in this universe and the Fay army will come to you and take care of Korin. Then we can swap everyone back to their own universes and shut down this portal that is causing all the trouble, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles replied, “we’ll do everything we can to unmask the little bastard the next time he shows up.”

“Be careful,” Stilinski said.

“I will, dad,” Stiles said.

They said their goodbyes and Dylan clicked the "End Call" button. He was nervous and fidgety the rest of the night.


	38. Trolling the Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Add an update with minor changes on 10/11/2015.
> 
>  
> 
> Previous Update:
> 
> Hi Everyone. As promised, I am re-posting this chapter with the language and typos cleaned up. As I said in the original summary, this is a critical chapter for the storyline. We see Stiles acting a little and there's a major incident and a major reveal.
> 
> The original version I posted of this chapter was really raw. I put it up in a hurry, in order to meet a promise I made to post something by the end of the weekend, so it was full of typos and I hadn't even done an edit to improve the language. This re-post fixes all of that. It should now read much smoother and be sans typos. If you catch anything I missed, please leave me a comment and I'll fix it.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy it.

The thing they don’t tell you about being an actor is that you spend most of your workday not acting, but waiting around—chiefly for other people to do their jobs, so that you, in turn, can do yours. The lighting guys position dozens of lamps at precise locations on the set and then make a thousand tweaks to them, so that shadows are cast perfectly and every bit of glare is gone; the sound guys do sound check after sound check and make endless adjustments, so that all that the microphones pick up is sound that is pure and sweet and without a single errant echo; the camera guys set up their equipment to within a millimeter of perfection and then fiddle with it for an hour, to get the consummate shot; and above all the director, who is master of ceremonies at this “three ring circus,” examines everything with the detail of an electron microscope, to make sure that it’s exactingly correct; all while you (the actor) wait, and wait, and wait some more.

It was Monday morning at 11:30 and Stiles had been on set since 6:30. He had filmed exactly two parts of a single scene and was waiting while the crew got the set ready for the third part. Currently, he was listening to the director for this episode, an extremely young-looking dude named Corey, argue with one of the prop guys. “This thing’s got too much hair on it,” Corey was saying, waving the prop, a three-foot long fiberglass replica of a piece of metal scaffolding, in the prop guy’s face.”

“It’s not that hairy,” the guy replied, grabbing the prop and looking at it closely.

“The fuck it isn’t,” Corey said, pointing at several places where patches of hair and other fiber were stuck to the prop, held in place by fake blood that had been smeared on it and was now dry. “It looks like one of the werewolves shed all over it. So, either clean it or get me a new one.”

As the pair continued to argue, Stiles turned his attention back to the two people sitting with him on the set. They were all lounging in director’s chairs, chatting and enjoying the morning, while the hustle and bustle on the set took place around them.

Holland Rhoden sat next to Stiles, asking him about his experiences at Banshee Con over the weekend. Next to her was an actor named Ashton Moio. A guest star on the show, Moio was playing Donovan, a psychotic kid turned Chimera, who Stiles was supposed to kill in the episode they were currently filming. Stiles wasn’t sure he liked the idea that, at some point in the future, back in his universe, he might actually have to kill the real Donovan. On the other hand, from reading the script, it was completely self-defense.

“So, you liked Banshee Con?” Holland asked, looking at Stiles carefully, like she was searching for something in his face or behavior. Stiles wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was looking for, maybe signs of shock that so many people were interested in his life and the lives of his friends.

“It was great,” he replied. “Everyone was really nice. I can’t believe how great they all were.”

“So, you’re not freaked out by how many people think you and Derek should be together?” she asked, raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow.

“No, why should I be?” he asked, honestly curious. People in this universe seemed to have issues with the whole gay thing. Stiles didn’t understand it and, moreover, thought it was silly. A person liked who they liked, why should it be a big deal? He wasn’t sure he liked Derek that way, but he wasn’t sure that he didn’t either. He did like Malia, but wasn’t sure if that was a long-term thing or just teenaged hormones. He liked Lydia, too, but thought that maybe they made better friends than lovers, though he still wasn’t excluding it. He’d figure it all out, he just needed time, something that people in this universe didn’t seem to want to give him.

“I don’t know,” Holland said, archly, “maybe because he’s so much older than you.”

“He’s not that much older than me,” Stiles said, surprised, “maybe five years. Do you guys in this universe have a thing about five year age differences, or something?”

Moio snorted. Stiles and Holland turned to look at him. “You guys are trying to punk me, right?” he asked, breaking into full laughter. “You actually think you can get me to believe that you’re the real Stiles Stilinski, transported to this universe from some alternative reality where _Teen Wolf_ is real?” He guffawed and shook his head, continuing to laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world.

“Honestly,” Stiles said, dead serious, “I don’t care what you believe. As long as you do your job and don’t interfere with anything, you can believe that I’m Stiles, Dylan, or the fucking man in the moon.” He started to turn back to Holland, but then thought of something and added, “Oh, and if you see a big black dog with glowing red eyes, get the fuck out of the way, because I don’t want to have to explain to anyone why you got your ass eaten by a hell hound.” He then turned back to Holland, leaving Moio looking completely confused.

“Speaking of hell hounds,” Stiles began, “did you hear…?” Then he stopped, realizing something, and turned back yet again to Moio, “You did sign the NDA, right?”

“The Non-Disclosure Agreement?” Moio asked, his brow furrowing. Stiles nodded. After a moment, Moio nodded back and said, “Yea.”

Satisfied, Stiles turned back to Holland. “Did you hear that Parrish is supposed to be a hell hound?”

“Yes,” Holland replied, smiling. “Cool, right?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. “If it means that the real Parrish is going to be evil, I’d say definitely not cool.”

“Oh,” Holland replied, her smile fading as realization dawned on her face, “maybe it’s different when a hell hound is a person, rather than a dog. Maybe Parrish will be a good hell hound.”

“Maybe,” Stiles said, hearing a tinge of worry in his own voice that wasn’t nearly as strong as what he actually felt. He’d have to ask Margot about it, next time he had a chance.

“I think we’re about ready,” Corey shouted to everyone. He was holding a freshly-cleaned prop and was motioning to Moio and Stiles.

“Have fun, guys,” Holland said, getting up as they did. “I’m going back to my trailer. I’ll see you later.” She hugged Stiles and headed off. She wasn’t in this scene anyway, and had only come by to chat while they waited.

The crew positioned Moio so that he was lying on a stand they’d built. The stand was about two-and-a-half feet tall and consisted of a flat plate of metal with a post coming out the back. The flat piece was padded, so that it wouldn’t be entirely uncomfortable to lie on. It was designed so that Moio could lie on the padded piece while the post sat on the floor and supported most of his weight. His own legs and feet kept him from tipping over. Then, the fiberglass piece that Corey and the prop guy were arguing about, was attached to a mounting plate that was strapped to Moio’s chest and protruded through a hole in his shirt. Just add lots of fake blood and voila, instant skewered psycho chimera kid.

With everything ready with Moio, Stiles took his place in the scene. He was to be halfway up a scaffold, looking down at the mortally wounded Donovan. The camera was placed above him, to look over his shoulder.

There was no talking in this part of the scene, it merely called for Stiles to hang onto the scaffolding and look back over his shoulder to realize that Donovan had been impaled by the piece of scaffold. It was just a very short piece of the overall scene and would last about two seconds in the final episode. It took a hell of a lot longer than two seconds to film.

Corey had them do lots of takes, to make sure the editors had plenty of material to work with. He had Stiles look shocked, he had him look angry, then sad, and several other emotions. Then, he wanted to get the shot from several angles. It was all very redundant, Stiles thought, but what the heck, it was part of the job. It was really just what they call “an establishing shot,” in the film business, because it established that Donovan was mortally wounded and set the stage for the next part of the scene, where Stiles climbed down off the scaffold and tried to pull the piece of metal out of Donovan’s chest. They had already filmed that piece.

Finally, Corey wanted to get one more shot, with a particularly tricky angle, so Stiles and Moio were holding their positions while the cameraman, who was above Stiles on a platform attached to the scaffold, finagled the camera into place.

As they waited, while Corey watched a live monitor and shouted directions to the cameraman to move it a little left, a little right, or change the angle slightly, there was suddenly the distant sound of a commotion. It sounded like it was coming from well outside the set, in an entirely different part of the warehouse that _Teen Wolf_ used as a studio. It seemed to Stiles like stuff was being smashed—heavy stuff, like walls and buildings. There was a crash, followed by a rumble, like a brick wall was collapsing or something. Then, Stiles heard the clear, distinct roar of a werewolf, followed by another roar, which he recognized immediately as Malia’s. This was followed by sounds of movement, like something was running, moving toward them—something heavy. Whatever it was, it was moving fast and getting close in a hurry.

“What the fuck is that?” Corey asked, looking angry. “Whatever it is, it’s ruining my shot.” He motioned to the assistant director, “Go see what that is, and tell them to shut the hell up.” The guy trotted off to see what was going on.

Stiles knew that whatever it was, it was bad news, so he jumped down from the scaffold and said to Corey, “This is a supernatural problem. You better have everybody ready to get the hell out of here, if we need to.”

Corey rolled his eyes. “Seriously, you expect me to go for that?”

The sounds were getting closer, fast.

“No,” Stiles replied, calmly, “I expect you to have everybody ready to get the hell out, fast, if we need to.”

“Listen,” Corey said, obviously angry, “I don’t buy that bull shit Jeff gave me about you being Stiles, so shut the hell up and….”

Stiles stopped listening. Whatever was coming their way was almost on top of them and there was no more time for Corey’s non-belief. Shouting, “Move!, ”Stiles grabbed Moio and pulled him off the stand, just as the wall opposite them burst open from floor to ceiling. Drywall, wood, metal, and dust flew across the room as a huge, bi-pedal creature staggered through the opening and onto the set. Moio scrambled to his feet as he and Stiles barely managed to get out of the way in time, pieces of wood and drywall crashing down onto the spot where Moio had just been.

The creature stood at least sixteen feet tall and had grayish-green skin. It was heavy-set and hugely muscular, with long arms and huge hands that nearly dragged the floor. Small, almost tiny eyes squinted out of its rugged face. Its skin was wrinkled and folded, with scabby patches scattered about its hide, while its hair was long and black, but stringy and matted. And it smelled awful, like someone who hadn’t bathed in about a year.

For a brief moment, there was dead silence, as the creature stood in the middle of the room, apparently dazed by the dust and debris it had thrown up in its dramatic entrance.

The humans were dazed, too. Corey was frozen where he stood, in mid-rant, one hand raised to make a point that was now entirely irrelevant. The cameraman, lying on top of the scaffold, was frozen in horror. His face was only a few feet from the creature’s face, and he stared at it in wide-eyed terror.

Around the creature stood Liam, Derek, and Malia, who had been chasing it. They were now positioned in a rough crescent between it and the humans. Liam and Malia were shifted into werewolf and werecoyote forms, respectively, while Derek was in full wolf form.

The creature seemed disoriented. It looked around, like it was lost. Then the dust cleared enough for it to see the three were-creatures and the film crew. When it spotted Derek, It howled in rage and smashed a boulder-sized fist down on him. Derek nimbly darted away, as the fist crashed into floor, cracking concrete and sending dust and shards of tile flooring flying in all directions.

Then, the creature began to whirl about, smashing at anything that moved. Malia, Liam, and Derek were all too fast for it, however, and it only succeeded in smashing the floor, along with some bookshelves and props. Unfortunately, one of the things it smashed was the scaffold, holding the cameraman, who crashed to the floor, screaming. He hit at a bad angle and Stiles heard a snapping sound as the guy’s leg broke beneath him, twisted at an odd angle to the rest of his body. A choked sob escaped his lips, as he writhed in pain and pounded the floor with his hands.

Noticing the sound, the creature stopped attacking the others and turned his attention to the cameraman. Baring its teeth, which were crooked and stained, but still looked razor sharp, it reached out a fat hand toward the injured man.

Without thinking, Stiles tapped the back of his hand against Moio’s stomach and shouted, “Help me!” then ran toward the cameraman.

To his credit, Moio ran after Stiles without hesitation.

The two reached the cameraman and were pulling him away, when the creature suddenly realized what was happening and tried to grab Stiles. At that moment, Malia leapt at the giant hand, raking her claws along its thumb. Deep bloody gashes opened in the wake of her claws. The creature screeched and yanked back its hand.

Stiles and Moio were able to get the cameraman back to the rest of the crew, who took charge of him.

Seeing that Corey was completely useless, Stiles quickly turned to the crew and shouted, “Everybody, get the hell out of here, now!” They didn’t need any other encouragement, the entire crew ran for the door, three of them helping the injured cameraman get away.

Corey stood, rooted to where he had been standing when all of this started. His hand was still raised, and he was staring at the creature as if he couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. Yet he must have understood, because he shaking all over and a wet patch was blooming at the crotch of his pants. He’s pissed himself, Stiles thought, shaking his head and turning back to the creature. It was then that he noticed Moio, still there.

“Dude,” Stiles said to Moio, “didn’t you hear what I said. You need to go.”

“I want to stay,” Moio replied. “Maybe I can help.”

“Okay, Stiles said, shaking his head and clapping Moio on the back, “but be careful. That damn thing isn’t a film prop or a special effect, okay?”

“Okay,” Moio replied, solemnly.

Stiles was just turning back toward the creature, when Jeff, Margot, and four burley security guards charged onto the set. They all stopped in their tracks, astonishment on their faces. The guards were standing, wide-eyed, looking like they had no idea how to take on anything that big. Stiles understood how they felt.

Margot was the first to recover. Taking a long look at the creature, she shouted, “It’s a troll!”

Then, to Stiles, she shouted, “Get your staff!”

Oh shit, Stiles thought, how could he have forgotten his staff? He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small magical bag that held it. Reaching into the bag, he imagined holding the staff, and it materialized in his hands. He pulled the staff from the bag and shoved the bag back into his pocket.

As the troll continued to whirl about the set, trying to smash Malia, Liam, and Derek, Stiles considered how to stop it. “Hey,” he shouted to Margot, “what if I just disintegrate it? Will it go puff?

“Not in a good way,” she shouted back. “Disintegrating something changes its mass into energy. You know that Einstein equation, E equals M C squared?”

“Yea,” Stiles replied, “you mean I’ll nuke the studio?”

“With that big a thing,” she replied, pointing at the troll, “more like most of southern California. Not a good idea.”

“True,” he replied, shouting over the commotion. “But, it’s a good fact to know. Don’t disintegrate anything bigger than an ant.”

Stiles considered what else might work. Maybe he could blast it with lightening or something. He was just about to suggest this to Margot, when he suddenly felt himself being yanked violently to one side. Moio had grabbed him and pulled him out of the way, just as the Troll’s fist fell on the spot where he had been standing. Moio had pulled him with such force, however, that the two of them lost their balance and fell into a set of stage lamps, knocking them over and sending themselves sprawling amid the wreckage.

Stiles found himself on the floor, staring into one of the lamps. It blinded him. He was seeing spots as the light burned into his retinas. Fuck, it was bright. The sun had nothing on that lamp. Then, he had a realization. He jumped up and, blinking the spots out of his eyes, shouted to Margot, “Hey, is there any truth to that old story about trolls being turned to stone by sunlight?”

“Yes,” she replied, “but we’re inside.”

Stiles smiled and, pointing at the wall behind them, shouted to Jeff, “”That’s the west wall of the building, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jeff replied, “what are you thinking of doing?”

“Shedding some light on this problem,” Stiles said, smiling. He looked at his watch. It was 12:35. The sun’s position should be just about right for this to work.

“Get the hell away from that wall,” he shouted to Jeff, Margot, and the guards, pointing at the wall behind them. “And get mush brain out of the way, too.” This last was with a gesture toward Corey.

As they hurried to follow his instructions, Stiles turned toward Moio and said, “Thanks for the help a minute ago, do you feel like going for a little run?”

“Sure,” Moio replied, smiling. “What do you have in mind?”

“When I say the word, I want you to throw anything you can find at that troll. I want to get him to chase us. We’re going to run toward that wall over there and just before we hit it, I’m going to knock a chunk of it down, so that we, along with Mr. Troll, can run through it. Hopefully, we’ll all charge out into a sunny afternoon and the troll will get turned to stone.”

“You mean, like in _The Hobbit_?” he asked.

“Exactly,” Stiles replied.

“Cool,” Moio said, smiling and picking up several chunks of wood from the debris lying around. “Just say when.”

Chase him toward us!” Stiles shouted at Malia, Liam, and Derek. Then, he lifted his staff, shouted, “Now!” to Moio, and began shooting small electrical charges from the staff toward the troll, kind of like mini-lightening.

Moio threw the wood he was holding at the beast, catching him once in the knee and once on the chin.

The troll roared in anger and lumbered toward them.

The two turned and sprinted toward the wall, the troll in hot pursuit. It moved surprisingly fast for something so large.

Just before they hit the wall, Stiles pointed the staff toward it and shouted, “Burst!” A section about twenty feet across and the full height of the building burst open into the parking lot, beyond. Stiles and Moio jumped through the opening and onto the asphalt, with the troll right on their heels.

“Keep going, keep going!” Stiles shouted at Moio, wanting to make sure they were well into the sunlight. Behind them, Stiles heard the troll gasp and groan, then he heard a cracking sound. He stopped and turned. The troll was frozen in mid stride, just behind them, completely turned to stone. Another second, and it would have caught them.

“Dude,” Moio said, smiling and clapping Stiles on the shoulder, “That was seriously close.”

“No shit,” Stiles replied,” smiling back.

He was just about to say something else, when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and was horrified to see that the troll had been overbalanced when it turned to stone, its hands stretched out toward them. Now, the stone troll was tipping toward them, about to crash down on their heads. “Look out!” Stiles shouted, shoving Moio out of the way and trying to get away himself.

Stiles managed to knock Moio clear, but the troll crashed just beside Stiles, one long troll arm pinning him to the ground. He wasn’t hurt, but he was totally trapped. Worse, his staff had been knocked out of his hand and was trapped under the troll too, just out of his reach. If he could have grasped it, he could have used it to magically lift the troll arm out of the way, but he couldn’t quite touch it.

Jeff, Margot, Malia, Liam, and Derek were all suddenly beside him. “Stiles, are you alright?” Jeff asked, trying to move the stone arm, without success.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said, but I can’t move.”

“Let us try,” Malia said, indicating herself and Liam. After a few moments of straining and grunting, she shook her head. “It’s not moving for us either.”

“We’ll have to get some people out here with sledge hammers and pry bars to move this arm,” he said, and shouted some orders back into the building. “Hang tight,” he said, smiling at Stiles, “we’ll get you out as fast as we can.”

“Sure,” Stiles replied, strumming his fingers on the asphalt, “I got nowhere else to be.”

Jeff and Liam hurried off to manage the task of getting people and equipment to free Stiles, while Margot, Malia, and Moio stayed with him. Derek trotted off, apparently going back to change into human form and find his clothes.

“So, how’s your day?” Stiles asked Margot, smiling. Might as well have some casual conversation while he waited for the troll removal service to show up.

“Eventful,” she replied, sarcastically, “but, also with a major concern.”

“What’s that?” Stiles asked. If Margot was concerned, then his inner voice told him that he should be concerned too.

“With all of the wards I’ve put around the studio, the troll appearing couldn’t have been due to a rift in time and space. It was deliberate.”

“Korin,” Stiles replied.

“Exactly,” Margot said, “but why?”

“To fuck with us?” Stiles asked. “Because he’s a mean bastard?”

“Maybe,” she said, thoughtfully, “but, the only time he’s done this before, with that anger spell he cast on Malia, it was to distract us.”

“While he sacrificed those girls,” Stiles added, remembering the occasion, vividly, and the emotional effects it was still having on him.

“But what is he distracting us from, now?” she asked.

As if on que, they heard the roar of a powerful car engine. A Lexis sped around the southwest corner of the building and headed toward them, making the turn so fast that the tires squealed. Holland Rhoden was in the back seat. In the front, driving, was a cloaked figure. Stiles could see the glowing red eyes, even from this distance and in bright sunlight. There was no mistaking those eyes.

“Margot, it’s Korin, and he has Holland,” he shouted.

As the car sped toward them, Holland grabbed at Korin’s hood and yanked it back. The car shot past, narrowly missing the troll debris, and Stiles clearly saw the person behind the wheel. It was Leonard, the director from the last block of episodes the show had filmed.

“Holy shit!” Stiles, yelled, unable to do anything to stop them.

Margot tried a spell, to overload the electronics in the car, but it didn’t work. “He must have shielded the car against magic,” she said, “fuck that bastard—fuck him to hell and back.”

Just as the car shot past, Stiles phone began to ring. He jerked it out and saw that it was Dylan calling from the other universe—Stiles’ universe. Punching the button he said, harshly, “Dylan, I can’t talk now. Korin just kidnapped Holland.”

“Stiles,” a familiar, feminine voice spoke from the phone, “It’s Holland. I got zapped to your universe when I tried to leave my trailer. It wasn’t me that he kidnap.”

“Oh, shit,” Stiles said, tears coming to his eyes. Turning his head toward the fast-retreating car, he screamed, “Lydia!” just as the Lexis hurtled out of the parking lot onto Balboa Boulevard and headed north.


	39. Sereetha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan, Scott, Stilinski, and Silveron plan the capture of Korin and Sereetha. Scott and Dylan have dinner and watch Sereetha. Significant events occur. Hope you enjoy.

“Now that we know the current identity of Korin, all we need is his location, and we can trap Sereetha and him simultaneously,” Korin said. “Then, using the new portal we have created that completely bypasses our universe, we can return everyone to their proper places, shut down Korin’s portal and be done with this entire sorry situation.”

They were meeting in the sheriff’s department conference room, a long narrow space, with faux wood paneling that was covered almost entirely with maps of one kind or another. Stilinski, Scott, and Dylan were in the room with Silveron, while Stiles listened, and occasionally contributed to the conversation, through what had come to be known as “the magic cell phone,” which lay on the table.

Dylan, reached for a coffee pot on a narrow table behind him and poured himself a refill, before offering it to the others.

“Why do we need a separate portal?” Scott asked Silveron, holding his cup out for Dylan to fill. “Can’t we just use the one that’s already there?"

“Every time matter passes through the portal that Korin and Sereetha created, it passes through the Fay universe to get to its destination,” he said, sadly. “This was deliberate… part of their plan for revenge. Ours is a purely spiritual universe. Matter degrades it severely. Over time, it will completely destroy the land of the Fay, which is what Korin and Sereetha seek. It is their way of getting even for our banishing them to separate universes. Bypassing it means that we can transfer matter between your two universes without further damaging ours.”

“Oh, I get it,” Scott said, nodding understanding.

“Stiles, what are you guys doing to track Korin?” Stilinski asked, speaking loudly into the phone so that Stiles could hear, as he passed his cup across the table for Dylan to refill.

“Jeff says that he has private detectives looking,” Stiles’ disembodied voice said from the cell phone speaker, hollow and tinny.

Dylan took a long swig of coffee. It was bitter, but good. “That’s not like having the police looking, but Jeff doesn’t have contacts in the police departments there like we do here,” Dylan said.

“Yea,” Stiles replied, “it’s the best we can manage. Also, Margot is trying to do some magical stuff, but she isn’t having much luck. Apparently, Korin’s done something magical to hide himself from anyone trying to find him that way.”

Silveron nodded, “Korin is very adept at magic, and he has no hesitation to use human sacrifice to obtain the energy he needs to do such work.”

Dylan shuddered, remembering the pit full of bodies he had discovered at the nemeton. “Sereetha doesn’t seem too put off by it either,” he said, taking another gulp of coffee to study himself.

“That is more surprising to me,” Silveron said, tapping a long finger against his chin. “I knew Sereetha, when she was in my world. She was always the kindest and most caring of beings. That she could stoop to such work is most troubling.”

“Yea, I’m sure her sacrifice victims agree,” Dylan said, wryly.

“So, you have everything ready to go at your end?” Stilinski asked Silveron.

“Yes, shire reeve, we do,” Silveron replied. “An entire legion of Fay warriors is ready to move immediately upon my command. One company will come to your universe and take Sereetha, while another company will move on Korin in the other universe. A third company will remain as reserve in our universe, ready to go to either location, if needed.”

“Good,” Stilinski replied, nodding. He looked at Scott, then said to Silveron, “When you capture her, please remember that she’s possessing a completely innocent young woman named Marsha Gilbert. What are you going to do to separate them without harming Marsha?”

“And Korin from Leonard, too,” Stiles said from the phone. “Remember, Leonard is just as much a victim as Marsha.”

“Of course,” Silveron said, a note of sympathy in his voice, “we will do everything we can to separate Korin and Sereetha from the humans they possess. It should be possible to force them to break their connection using a simple pattern of flashing white light.”

“What kind of pattern?” Stiles asked, his voice obviously curious.

“A pattern of three flashes in a single second, followed by two flashes in a second, then five flashes in a second,” Silveron replied. “That pattern, repeated four or five times should force the Fay host from the body. At that point, we must remove them from your universe within half an hour or they will die. Our kind cannot last longer in your universe than that length of time without taking a human or animal host. That is the only reason they are possessing humans in the first place.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked fatigued. “Speaking of which,” he said, tiredly, “the time is fast approaching when I must depart. I too, am limited in my duration in your universe. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

“How do we get in touch with you fast, when the time comes?” Dylan asked, draining his coffee cup.

“The two mobile telephones that we have previously cast spells upon,” Silveron replied, pointing to the cell phone on the table. “Simply dial 999 and you will reach me.”

“Cool,” Stiles said from the phone.

“Adieu,” Silveron said. Then, he was gone.

=== ===

An hour later, Dylan and Scott were walking into Ponder’s Café, ready to take over surveillance of Marsha from Carlton and Reeves. The two SCAPE officers nodded as they left.

“Those two make a cute couple,” Scott said, smiling after them.

“Yea,” Dylan said, “if you say so.”

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked, looking at Dylan.

“I don’t know,” Dylan said, pulling a menu from behind the napkin dispenser and opening it. “I’m perfectly okay with two guys being together, in fact I think it’s great, but I guess I’m just too straight to think of two guys as ‘cute.’ I’m just not wired that way, you know.”

“No, not really,” Scott replied, eying Dylan, curiously. “I don’t think it matters. I think anyone can recognize two people who should be together, and those two should definitely be together.”

“Well, that I can completely agree with,” Dylan replied, laughing, “they’re a perfect couple.”

“And that’s what makes them so cute together,” Scott said.

“Oh, okay,” Dylan said, thinking that he understood, “it’s not about me thinking they’re physically cute, it’s about them being perfect together.”

“Yep,” Scott said, “now you’re getting it.”

“Hey, guys,” Marsha said, suddenly appearing beside them, “what can I get you to drink.”

Dylan nearly jumped out of his skin. “Jeez, Marsha,” he said, recovering, “don’t scare a guy like that, okay.”

“What’s wrong,” she asked, bending down, so that her face was inches from Dylan’s, “you thought I was the big bad wolf or something?” She looked over and winked at Scott as she said it. Dylan and Scott eyed one another as Marsha straightened up and pulled her order book out of her apron pocket. “What can I get you guys to drink?” she repeated.

“Uh, coke for me,” Scott replied, continuing to eye Dylan.

“Coke for me, too,” Dylan replied, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing. Then, he added, “And to answer your question, no, not the big bad wolf, Goldilocks, maybe, but not the wolf.”

She smiled, winked, and left to get their drinks.

As soon as she was gone, Scott said, “What do you think she knows?”

“Don’t know,” Dylan answered, but whatever she knows, or suspects, it can’t be good.”

“No shit,” Scott replied.

“Maybe we’re overreacting,” Scott said. “Maybe she knows that I’m a werewolf because the Ponder’s are wolves. She could have found out from them.”

“Maybe,” Dylan said, tapping the table, nervously, “but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

Marsha returned with their drinks. “Whatcha having?” she asked, her order book at the ready. Dylan ordered a burger and fries and Scott got the pork chop special.

Their food came and they ate in silence, keeping a careful eye on Marsha, who did not say or do anything out of the ordinary.

When they were nearly finished eating, Marsha appeared at their table again and asked, “Desert?”

“No, not for me,” Dylan said, holding up his hand in a gesture of no. “I’m good.”

“Me too,” Dylan said.

“Well enjoy the last few bites of your dinner,” Marsha said, smiling, and slipping the bill, face down, under Dylan’s plate. “I’m going to run out back for a quick smoke and when I get back, I’ll get your money.”

“Cool,” Scott said, as she hurried away.

Dylan shook his head, “Maybe we were being paranoid.”

“Maybe,” Scott said. He popped the last bit of pork chop into his mouth and reached for the bill.

Dylan took a final swig of coke and sat the glass back on the table, just as he saw Scott’s eyes go wide looking at the bill.

“What’s wrong?” Dylan asked, straightening in his chair.

“She totally knows we’re watching her,” Scott said, turning the bill toward him. Written in large block letters on the front of the bill were the words, “NICE ACTING JOB DYLAN.” Dylan’s name was underlined.

“Fuck,” he said, getting up and throwing his napkin onto the table. “We have to find her. Where the hell did she go?”

“She said she was going out back for a smoke.” Scott said, getting up and heading toward the kitchen.

Dylan followed. As the two burst into the kitchen, a burly cook blocked their way. He was taller than Scott and looked like he had a lot more muscles. “Customer’s ain’t allowed in the kitchen,” he said, crossing his arms and looking like he was happy to give them a fight, if they didn’t turn around and leave at once.

Scott didn’t look a bit phased by it. “Where’s Marsha?” he asked the cook.

“She’s out back taking a smoke break,” he replied sternly. Go back to your table and I’ll send her to you when she gets back.”

“No time for that,” Scott said. “Is that the back door?” He pointed at a closed door at the rear of the kitchen.”

“I said get back to your table,” he repeated, pointing a finger at Scott.

“Can’t do that bro,” Scott said, starting to go around him.

The guy grabbed Scott by the shirt and started to pull him back, but Scott reached up and grasped the guy’s wrist and twisted. The guy screamed and dropped to his knees. His eyes started glowing blue and Dylan definitely saw fangs beginning to protrude from his mouth, as he growled at Scott. Scott’s eyes flamed red and he growled back.

“Oh shit,” the guy gasped, “an alpha!”

“What the hell’s going on here?” a heavy-set older man said, appearing at a side door. Dylan thought the room beyond the door must be the restaurant’s office, as it held a battered desk and what looked like an old desktop computer.

“Lester,” Scott said. “I need to find Marsha now. It’s urgent.”

Lester, who Dylan thought must be the owner of the restaurant because of the way he acted, lumbered into the kitchen. He looked like he was in his mid-fifties. He was short, maybe five-eight or five-nine tops, with bushy eyebrows and a receding hairline. He wore a dirty chef’s apron that stuck out over his considerable paunch. Nothing about this guy screamed “werewolf,” but Dylan figured that you didn’t have to be six-foot and all kinds of handsome to be a were-creature.

“Mortimer, get the hell up and go back to your chores,” Lester said, tapping the cook on the shoulder. Scott released the man’s wrist and he scurried off, looking frightened. Everyone else in the kitchen, all of whom had been following the confrontation carefully, suddenly returned to their work, pointedly ignoring Scott, Dylan, and Lester.

“Sorry about that, Scott,” Lester said, showing greater deference to Scott than Dylan had expected. Lester shuffled his feet and couldn’t seem to look Scott in the eyes. “Mortimer is an okay guy. He’s just had bad sinus trouble all his life and can’t smell worth crap. Normal humans can smell better than him, otherwise, he would have known you were wolf.”

“That’s okay,” Scott said, but we need to find Marsha. She’s not who she seems to be, Lester. She’s been possessed by an evil fairy and is causing all kinds of trouble.”

“Oh, shit,” Lester said, his eyes going wide, as he looked up at Scott. “How long?”

“Months maybe, we don’t know for sure,” Scott said. “We and the sheriff’s office have been keeping an eye on her, but she’s on to us and we can’t let her get away. She said she was going outside for a smoke. Would that be through the door there?”

“Yea,” Lester said, “let’s have a look.” He headed for the door, with Scott and Dylan right behind him. The three exited into a small, dirt parking lot. There were plenty of cars, but no Marsha.

Lester looked around. “Her car’s gone,” he said, scratching his balding head.

“What does she drive?” Dylan asked.

“A white 1965 Ford Fairlane, four door,” Lester said.

Dylan whistled, “That’s an antique.”

“Yea,” Lester said, looking anxious, “she inherited it from her grandma. Mint condition, too.

Then he asked Scott, “Is she dangerous? Is there any chance of getting that fairy out of her without hurting her? She’s a nice girl. I’d hate to see the cops kill her because she was possessed… and she’s also the best waitress I’ve had in years.”

“We’re going to do everything we can to catch her and get that fairy out of her,” Scott said, sympathetically. “But, she is really dangerous. She’s killed at least 21 people that we know of.”

“Oh, God!” Lester said, looking like he was going to cry.

“Thanks, Lester,” Scott said, giving the man a quick hug. “If she shows back up, call Stilinski immediately, then call my cell phone. We’re going after her.”

“Be careful,” Lester said, “fairies are tricky bastards.”

Scott nodded and started running back to the restaurant, Dylan on his heels. Scott dropped some money on the table as they ran past. When they burst out onto the street and jumped into the jeep, he said, “You drive and I’ll call Stilinski.”

“Okay,” Dylan replied, “where are we going? She’s got about a ten minute head start on us.”

Scott thought for a minute. “Where would she go?” he asked. “What makes sense here?”

“Yea,” Dylan said, his mind thinking rapidly, “why would she reveal herself to us? Obviously, she knows we’ve realized who she actually is. Why not just leave? If she had just walked out the back, it might have been twenty minutes before we even started looking for her.”

“Like you said, she knows we’re on to her,” Scott said, looking at Dylan, “so she has to run, but where to? She can’t go far, because the nemeton is her only connection to the other universe and to Korin.”

“It’s the nemeton,” Dylan said, realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in nervous excitement. “It has to be. If she can send other people through the nemeton, then she can send herself. If she feels threatened then why not go to Korin?”

“That’s it!” Scott shouted. “She’s going to join Korin in the other universe. Drive! I’ll call Stilinski.”


	40. To the Nemeton We will Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan and Stiles search for Sereetha, while Carlton comes to terms with the fact that Reeves knows about the supernatural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. The holidays and health issues have meant that I've had little time for writing. Hopefully, I will be able to post on a regular basis going forward. There are only three or four more chapters in the book, so I'm hoping to make them count.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Dylan was the first to spot Marsha’s car, parked off the road behind some bushes. He slammed on the breaks, nearly sending Scott into the dashboard.

“What the hell?” Scott said, bracing with his hands.

“Sorry,” Dylan replied, “but isn’t that the car?” He pointed at a swath of white, mostly hidden by some fir trees and underbrush.

“Maybe,” Scott said, following Dylan’s finger. “Let’s have a closer look.”

Dylan backed up a little and pulled the jeep off the road, parking behind the car. The two got out and approached cautiously. Dylan carried Stiles’ bat, while Scott was in full-on werewolf mode, eyes glowing and claws extended.

They eased closer to the car. Dylan could definitely tell that it was a white Ford Fairlane, but he couldn’t check the plate against the number Stilinski had given them, because it was obscured by underbrush. The car was wedged into the forest good. It was almost a miracle he’d seen it in the first place. How many Ford Fairlanes were still operating in Beacon County, he wondered to himself? Not many, his mind replied.

Meanwhile, Scott took the lead, easing up to the driver’s side car door and cautiously looking in through the windows. “It’s empty,” he whispered.

Dylan nodded and walked cautiously back toward the rear of the car, trying to get a view of the license plate. Just as he reached out to move some of the underbrush blocking his view, something dropped out of the tree and onto the trunk lid, with a thud and a screech. Scott and Dylan both jumped back, nearly colliding. Scott roared at it, holding up his clawed hands, while Dylan raised the bat, ready to bring it down on the creature’s head. Both shouted curses. Then, they realized simultaneously that it was a squirrel.

“Fuck,” Scott said, relaxing, “that was scary.”

“No shit,” Dylan replied.

The squirrel continued to screech and chatter at them, like they had stolen its personal supply of winter nuts or something.

Dylan ran at it, waving his hands and hissed in a low, but what he hoped was a scary voice, “Get the hell out of here!”

The squirrel screeched one last time and jumped to a nearby tree, scurrying up its long, twisted trunk.

“Fucking tree rat,” Dylan said, eyeing it as it retreated up the tree and jumped into the canopy of a nearby fir.

Once the squirrel was gone, Dylan reached out and pulled the tangle of underbrush away from the car’s back bumper. The license plate matched. “This is it,” Dylan said, pulling out his phone. He called Stilinski and put him on speaker, so that Scott could hear the conversation, too. When the sheriff answered, he reported what they had found.

“I’m sending SCAPE deputies to you,” Stilinski said. Hang tight until they get there.”

“Okay, Dylan said and hung up the phone.

What should we do while we wait,” he asked Scott.

“You keep an eye out,” Scott replied, moving toward the driver’s side door. “I’m going to see if I can pick up her scent. That way, when the deputies arrive, we’ll know which way she went.

“Sounds good,” Dylan said, and searched the surrounding woods with his eyes. He didn’t see anything, but he wanted to keep a close lookout while Scott sniffed the driver’s seat to get a good scent of Marsha/Sereetha.

“I got the scent,” Scott said, almost at once. He started sniffing around the car. “It leads this way.” He pointed up the hill, deeper into Beacon Hills Preserve.

“Okay,” Dylan said, checking his watch. “Hopefully the SCAPE deputies will be here soon.”

About thirty seconds later, three patrol cars screeched to a halt next to Stiles’ jeep and three deputies jumped out. Stiles knew Jack Carlton, having already met him. The other two introduced themselves as Cynthia Sanchez, and Robert Trent. Dylan noted that the three looked very respectfully at Scott. Carlton asked, “Do you have her scent?”

“Yes,” Scott replied, motioning toward the driver’s door. It’s all over the driver’s seat. Get a whiff and then we can get started.”

The three deputies nodded and moved toward the car door.

“Where’s Parrish?” Dylan asked, concerned that the chief deputy was nowhere to be seen.

“He circled around to come at the nemeton from another direction,” Sanchez replied.

Dylan nodded. It sounded like a good move to him. Maybe Parrish could cut her off before she reached the portal and passed through.

They were about to start after her, when a fourth police cruiser pulled up and Ben Reeves got out.

“What are you doing here?” Carlton asked him, sharply.

“I’m coming with you,” Reeves replied, opening the trunk and pulling out a pump shotgun and some cartridges.

“Like hell you are,” Carlton said, blocking his path. “Get back in your vehicle and go back on patrol.

Reeves didn’t move. “I’m part of this Jack,” he said, pulling up a sleeve to reveal the wound where the goblin had bitten him. It was beginning to heal, but still looked nasty. “I have as much right to be here as you do. I need to see this through.

“It’s dangerous, Ben,” Carlton said, reaching out a hand and rubbing Reeves’ shoulder lightly. “You could get really hurt, or worse.”

“I know that,” Reeves replied.

“Hey, guys,” Dylan said, interrupting them, “sorry, but we don’t have time for a lovers’ disagreement right now. Sereetha is getting away, and taking her borrowed Marsha body along with her. We need to go.”

“Scott,” Reeves said, turning to the alpha, “can I come?”

Smooth move appealing to the alpha, Dylan thought, quirking an eyebrow. None of the others would go against Scott, regardless of what they personally wanted. The alpha was… well… the alpha. If you’re a werewolf, you don’t go against the alpha… not unless you want one hell of a fight.

Scott looked from Reeves to Carlton and then back to Reeves. Finally, he said, “Yes.”

Carlton groaned and dropped his head.

“Thanks,” Reeves whispered.

“But,” Scott continued, “you need to stay with Dylan. The rest of us are going to be moving a lot faster than you two, and I want to make sure there’s someone with Dylan who has a weapon, in case Sereetha doubles back.”

“Understood,” Reeves replied and moved to stand next to Dylan.

Scott and the three deputies quickly located the scent and took off up the hill, into the preserve. Dylan and Reeves followed as fast as they could, but soon fell behind.

“How long have you and Carlton been together?” Dylan asked, as they topped a hill a few minutes later, stopping to catch their breath.

“About five months,” Reeves said, panting, his hands on his knees. “Right after he joined the force.”

“He seems like a nice guy,” Dylan said as they headed down the hill after the others.

“He is… and we have a lot in common.” Reeves seemed to consider for a moment and then added, “I just wish he’d not be so overly protective.”

Dylan slowed as the two struggled through some undergrowth. “From what I’ve seen, he has a right to be concerned. Maybe he’s overdoing it a bit, but this supernatural stuff is dangerous.

“No shit,” Reeves replied, smiling at him. “What are you really trying to tell me?”

“Be patient with him,” Dylan said, as they struggled up the next hill. “He definitely loves you and wants to protect you. You just need to show him that he doesn’t have to worry that some supernatural creature is going to turn you into dinner.”

“Yea, I guess I don’t have a good track record with that,” he replied, holding up his injured arm as evidence. I guess it’s going to take a lot of effort to convince him that I can be part of his life without me dying on him, but I really want us to get there, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Dylan replied. “Just remember that patience is a virtue.”

They had topped the next hill and Dylan looked around. “Shit,” he said, “I’ve lost their track. Do you see it?”

“No,” Reeves replied slowly, looking around, “but I’m sure we need to go that way.” He pointed ahead and to the left.

“How do you know?” Dylan asked, looking in the direction he’d indicated, but not seeing any sign of Scott and the others.

“Don’t know,” Reeves said, moving down the hill in the direction he had pointed.

“Then why the hell should we go with it, if it’s just a hunch?” Dylan asked, hurrying to keep up with him.

“It’s more than a hunch,” Reeves responded, waving his hands in what looked like a frustrated attempt to come up with words to explain it, but couldn’t. “I just know things,” he continued. All my life, I’ve had these hunches, like I’m psychic or something, and they’ve always been right. It’s just been happening a lot more since that goblin bit me.”

“Really?” Dylan asked, curious. “Maybe you are psychic, or maybe it’s the Fay blood that Silveron said you had, or maybe it’s a combination of both.”

“Maybe,” Reeves said, hurrying forward like furies were on his heels. “Whatever it is, I’m getting the feeling we need to go this way as fast as we can.” Dylan rushed to follow as Reeves thundered forward.

There were several more hills that the two hurtled over at top speed. Finally, Reeves stopped suddenly at the crest of a hill. Dylan nearly ran into him, stopping just short of a collision. “What?” he asked.

Reeves pointed and Dylan saw the nemeton about twenty yards in front of them. They looked around, but saw no one else. “Are we too late?” Dylan whispered.

“Don’t know,” Reeves replied in a low voice. “Don’t think so, though.”

Dylan was about to ask why he thought that, when he heard a sound behind him. They both turned to see Marsha running up the hill. She stopped when she saw them, a shocked look on her face.

“How?” she asked.

“Reeves is part Fay,” Dylan found himself responding, not quite sure why he spoke, except that he needed to delay the possessed Marsha until the others arrived. “I guess he was able to find a more direct path to the nemeton and here we are. So, tell me Marsha… uh… Sereetha… whichever you are, tell me why you’re trying to destroy three universes and kill a bunch of innocent people?”

Sereetha laughed a long, bitter, hard laugh. “Sereetha is fine,” she replied. “And we’re not trying to destroy your universe, Dylan. Nor are we trying to destroy Stiles’ universe, either.” She seemed to consider the two of them, tilting her head and giving them what Dylan thought was a sly smile. “It’s true that we want to destroy the Fay universe, and it’s true that both of your universes will be somewhat damaged in the process, but they will heal over time. In the end, they’ll both return to very close to normal.”

“Forgetting the fact that you’ll kill thousands of Fay, if not millions,” Dylan pressed on, not knowing how many Fay there really were, only that he had to delay Sereetha, because there was no way that Reeves and he could fight her alone and win. “How many of our fellow humans will die in the process?”

“Collateral damage,” Sereetha replied. “It happens in any war. It’s unfortunate, but necessary.”

“But why are you doing this?” Dylan pressed. “What did the Fay ever do to you and Korin? What crime did you guys commit?”

“Ha ha ha ha ha,” she laughed, shaking her head. “We committed the crime of love.”

She must have seen Dylan’s expression, because she nodded and threw her hands wide. “Crazy, isn’t it? We fell in love with one another and that was our great crime.”

“Huh?” Dylan said, not understanding.

“I am a member of the Seelie Court,” Sereetha explained. “Korin is a member of the Unseelie Court. According to the laws of our kind, the courts cannot mix. They cannot fall in loved. They cannot marry. And yet, we did fall in love… and we did become lovers. We met in secret. We were so in love. And then we were discovered. We were hauled before Oberon, the king of all the Fay, and he condemned us to exile, but not just any sort of exile… one that befit our particular crime. We would be condemned to live in separate universes, occupying the bodies of corporal beings,” she indicated Marsha’s body, “but we would always be able to hear each other’s thoughts. We could communicate through our minds, but we could never touch, we could never see one another, we could never make love.” Do you know what kind of torture that is… having such intimate contact with one another, but never being able to do anything about it?

“That’s horrible,” Dylan said, mortified.

“Now you begin to see,” Sereetha continued, smiling humorlessly at him. “We swore then, that we would have vengeance on them, though we didn’t know how.”

“Then, you discovered the similarities between our universes,” Dylan filled in. “The television show in my universe matching the real world in this one.”

“Precisely,” Sereetha said. Korin possessed Leonard, who was a film and television director, while I possessed Marsha, who was a waitress. Then, we realized that the plot of the television series in one universe matched closely with reality in the other. I set out to locate the nemeton, knowing that it would allow me to connect the two. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“So, how does it work?” Dylan asked, as innocently as he could. “I don’t really understand. How does transferring matter between universes destroy the Fay universe?”

“Simple,” Sereetha replied. The Fay universe is very ethereal, very spiritual. It can’t handle a lot of physical matter. Put too much matter in it and it breaks.”

“Okay,” Dylan said, nodding.

“The conduit we created routes matter between your universe and this one by first sending it through the Fay universe, causing cracks to develop in the time/space continuum there.”

“But why not just dump a bunch of matter directly into that universe?” Dylan asked, honestly curious. He’d wondered about that since he first heard Silveron talk about what Sereetha and Korin were doing.

“That wouldn’t actually destroy their universe,” she said, shaking her head. “It would be like an atomic bomb. The blast would kill a lot of people and it would damage the universe, but then it would be over. What we needed was something slower… more insidious. We needed to open the cracks slowly, so that they would have time to spread and do the maximum damage. Then, when we do drop in the big chunk of matter at the end, it causes the whole thing to….”

“Crack open like an egg,” Dylan finished. “Good times!” Dylan shook his head. He didn’t actually see how anyone would think it was good times, unless of course you were homicidal maniacs like Sereetha and Korin. He could definitely see them going for this.

“See,” you do understand,” Sereetha said, smiling. “There’s no need for either of you to get hurt. Just step aside and let me be on my way in peace. My quarrel is not with you or your friends, but only with the Fay.”

“Tempting,” Dylan said, not liking either side in this fight, “but unfortunately you really are hurting people in our two universes and we can’t just ignore that.”

Sereetha’s expression soured. “Suit yourself, then,” she said, raising her hand as a ball of energy began growing in her palm.

Dylan took a step back, while Reeves raised his shotgun. “Stop right there!” Reeves shouted.

Sereetha only smiled and stretched back her arm, like she was about to throw a baseball instead of a glowing ball of magical energy. Just as her arm started forward, however, a streak flashed across the side of the hill and struck her broadside, knocking her down and sending the glowing ball of magic hurtling off into the forest, where it struck a large oak tree, shattering it in a massive explosion.

Dylan looked back to see Carlton sitting on top of Sereetha, her wrists in his hands. He was fully wolfed out.

“Get off of me, you mangy mutt!” Sereetha shrieked at him, struggling, trying to get away.

“Not a chance, bitch,” he snarled back. “You’re not going to hurt my boyfriend.”

Sereetha uttered a word that Dylan didn’t understand and Carlton flew backward off of her, sailing fifty feet and crashing into the trunk of a huge hardwood tree, with a sickening thud. He slid down the tree trunk and lay motionless.

The next thing Dylan heard was a gun blast. He turned to see that Reeves was firing his shotgun at her as fast as he could pump it. Sereetha reeled under the hail of fire, her flesh searing as the iron pellets struck her skin. Then, Scott appeared from nowhere, hurling himself at Sereetha, while Sanchez and Trent followed right behind. They pinned Sereetha to the ground, as she screamed and struggled.

“Don’t let her speak!” Dylan shouted. “She can use magic if she speaks!”

Sanchez clamped a hand over Sereetha’s mouth, as the Fay girl continued to struggle, nearly throwing the three were-creatures off.

Dylan relaxed slightly, looking around to appraise the situation. Reeves had moved to the tree, where he still held the shotgun, but was helping Carlton, who had come around and was trying to sit up.

He turned back to see that Sereetha had stopped struggling. He was just about to tell Sanchez not to remove her hand from Sereetha’s mouth, when there was a sudden flash of light. Dylan covered his eyes and turned away. When the flash cleared and everyone could see again, a shimmering being of golden light stood next to them, while Marsha’s body, which Sereetha had possessed, lay motionless on the ground.

“Fortunately,” the glowing being said triumphantly in Sereetha’s voice, “I no longer need that body. I’ll find another one after I cross over. So, now you can see me in my true form.”

“Hell,” Scott said, leaping up and launching himself at the shimmering form of Sereetha. He hurtled right through her and crashed to the ground ten feet beyond.

“Ha ha ha ha ha,” she laughed, her form shimmering in time to her laughter. “I am ethereal, you dolt. You cannot harm me in this form. You cannot even touch me.”

She turned toward the nemeton and said, “Now, onward to my beloved.” She rushed forward, a streak of golden light.

Dylan thought they had definitely lost her, when she stopped suddenly. Someone had leaped across the nemeton from its far side, blocking her way. It was Parrish, but at the same time not Parrish. It took Dylan a moment to process what he was seeing. Parrish stood, naked between Sereetha and the nemeton and he was on fire.

Even weirder, Parrish didn’t seem to notice that he was on fire. He stood there blocking Sereetha’s path to the nemeton, golden flames blazing from him, yet his flesh didn’t burn. He was like the biblical burning bush, on fire, but never consumed.

Then Parrish spoke. “You have desecrated this place, with your portal and your sacrifices,” he said, pointing a flaming finger at Sereetha, who stared at him with contempt on her golden face. “You have joined the universes, damaging them and causing great disruption to the supernatural. You must cease this immediately.”

Sereetha spat golden light at him. “Get out of my way, you filthy hound,” she said in a voice filled with hatred. “You don’t know what the Fay have done to us, how they’ve made us suffer, all because we loved one another. Now, it’s time to make them pay, and no one, not even a hell hound, is going to stand in our way.”

_Hell hound_ , Dylan wondered to himself, _is that what Parrish is?_

Then, the two threw themselves at each other, and the ground shook as they collided.

Not only did Parrish not pass straight through Sereetha’s ethereal body, his claws raked great streaks down her skin, causing what looked like golden blood to spurt from the wounds. Sereetha shrieked and twisted, trying to get away, but Parrish had grabbed her in a body hug and would not let go. He pressed his face to her shoulder in what Dylan initially thought was a kiss, but then realized was a bite, as his fangs sank into her flesh and his head twisted, like he was trying to tear her shoulder from her body.

For her part, Sereetha slammed her fist into Parrish’s stomach, uttering what sounded to Dylan like magic words as she did so. Each punch was accompanied by the sound of energy being released. Dylan realized that each of those punches must be the equivalent of the shove that had sent Carlton flying fifty feet through the air, but Parrish only grunted with each one, his teeth still sunk into Sereetha’s shoulder, his claws still raking her back as he pinned her to himself.

Then, Sereetha went completely still and Dylan thought that Parrish had essentially won the fight, but that was not to be. Suddenly, there was another blinding flash of light and a terrible blast that knocked them all to the ground.

When Dylan came to his senses, he got to his knees and shook his head to clear it. He looked up to see Parrish lying on his back, just beginning to stir as magical flames licked his body. Beyond him, Sereetha staggered toward the nemeton, leaking a trail of golden, ethereal, fairy blood behind her.

“Stop her,” he choked out, struggling to his feet. He looked around to see that only Scott was standing. Together, the two staggered after her, but it was too late. Sereetha reached the nemeton, turned toward them, shot them a bird, and fell backward, disappearing into a haze of purple light.

“Fuck!” Dylan screamed. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He kicked the ground in frustration. They’d had one job – stop Sereetha from crossing to his universe, and they had failed. He looked at Scott, who appeared to be as despondent as he was, then looked back at the others, who were just picking themselves up off the ground. He noticed with some relief that among those stirring was Marsha. Good, at least she was alive. He then pulled out his phone.

“Who are you calling?” Scott asked.

“Stiles,” Dylan replied. “Someone needs to warn him that Sereetha is coming his way.”


	41. Kissing Boys on the Set

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and the others deal with the aftermath of the troll attack, they get a set visit from the authorities, and Stiles discovers something about Derek. This is definitely a chapter for Sterek shippers. Hope you enjoy.

Stiles sat in the library set, watching as the scaffolding that had collapsed during the troll attack reassembled itself, the pieces flying up from the ground and reattaching to one another. He tapped the side of his chair impatiently, as the parts of a broken plank put themselves back together, the ragged seam where they joined melding together and disappearing as though the plank had never been broken. Finally, the reassembled plank leapt back to the top of the scaffolding.

“There,” Margot said, tiredly, lowering the staff and flopping into the chair next to Stiles. “That was the last of it.”

“You restored the entire set?” Stiles asked, looking around, as he continued to tap the side of his chair.

“Yep,” she said, handing Stiles his staff, “and the outside as well. Everything is fixed and, even with the staff’s help, I am exhausted. I feel like I could sleep for a year.”

“That was a lot of work, Margot,” Stiles noted, pulling out his magical bag and slipping the staff into it for safekeeping. “You levitated the leftover chunks of the troll into the big garbage container at the back of the building, restored the wall I destroyed to lure the troll outside, not to mention all of the other walls the troll destroyed on its rampage through the studio, before it even got to us. Then, you finished off by completely restoring the library set, which looks great, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Margot sighed, sliding wearily out of her chair. “I’m going to find a quiet room with an empty couch and take a really long nap. Don’t disturb me unless there’s a dire emergency.”

“Okay,” Stiles replied, “but, before you go, can you tell me if there’s any progress in finding Lydia?” After her kidnapping by Korin, Stiles had screamed for them to free him from being trapped under that damned troll, so he could get in his car (Dylan’s car, actually) and go looking for her. Margot and Jeff had convinced him that it wouldn’t do any good because no one had a clue where he’d gone. Jeff had called a detective agency frequently used by Hollywood studios because of their reputation for success and discretion, and Stiles had settled down to wait for word.

“Nothing so far,” Margot said, wearily, “but they’ve only been at it for an hour or so.”

Stiles nodded and pulled out his script. If he couldn’t find Lydia at the moment, at least he could take his mind off it—go over his lines.

“We’ll find her, don’t you worry,” Margot said, giving him a tired hug.

He nodded, as she let go of him and practically staggered off the set and through the doors. Stiles could tell that she was really exhausted. He hoped that they wouldn’t need her help again until she had a chance to rest.

He read over a couple of scenes that he wasn’t quite sure he had fully memorized, while the haggard crew trickled in from an extended break they had taken following the attack.

Ashton Moio walked in and Stiles rose to say hi and tell him for the hundredth time how much he appreciated his help during the troll attack, when voices from the doorway caught his attention.

“I guarantee you, officer,” Jeff said, walking through the door and onto the set, accompanied by two police officers, “there has been no damage to our building, nor was there any kind of emergency.”

Stiles snorted. He hoped they were far enough away that they hadn’t heard him. Turning to Moio, he whispered, “Unless you consider a giant troll rampaging through the building and attacking people an emergency.”

Moio laughed softly and whispered back, “Nah, just a minor annoyance. All in a day’s work.” He stared at Stiles, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“We did have a cameraman fall off of that scaffolding and break his leg,” Jeff continued, pointing at the scaffold behind Stiles and Moio. “He’s been taken to the hospital and I’m told he’ll be fine.”

“How did it happen?” the first officer asked, looking at the scaffolding. The policeman’s eyes moved to Stiles and Moio, landing on Stiles and holding there for a moment, a flicker of recognition in them.

“We were trying to get a shot from and odd angle,” Jeff replied. “He was on top of the scaffold with one of our smaller cameras shooting downward. He shifted his position, to get a better shot, but miscalculated where he was and slid off the scaffold. He probably wouldn’t have been hurt at all, but he landed badly and his lower leg snapped.”

The two policemen flinched. “Any witnesses?” The second officer asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, moving to join them, Moio following just behind, “I was there and so were most of the crew.”

“And you are?” The second officer asked, taking out a notebook.

“Dylan O’Brien,” the first officer said, before Stiles could say anything. “The actor,” he added. The second cop nodded and wrote something in his notebook

Stiles wasn’t, of course, going to correct him. While he was in this universe, he was playing Dylan as much as Dylan played him on _Teen Wolf_.

“Oh,” the second officer said, apparently recognizing the name, belatedly. “You’re that guy from the _Maze Runner_ movies, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, nodding and extending his hand to the cops. “Please to meet you.” They all shook hands.

“So,” Jeff said, smiling and sweeping the room with his hands, “as you can see, there is no damage here.”

“Yes,” the first officer replied. “The report said that the whole side of the building was destroyed and someone was trapped under a broken monster statue.”

“It was all a special effect,” Jeff lied, smoothly. “We were trying to get a shot for the show and decided to dress up the side of the building to make it look like it had been knocked down. We didn’t think anyone would believe it actually was knocked down. We thought they’d be able to see that it was all staged.”

“Amazing how good practical effects have become, isn’t it,” the first officer said, smiling.

“Yes,” Stiles replied, enthusiastically, “really amazing.” Jeff gave him a hard look, obviously trying to tell him not to overdo it.

“Is there anything else we can do for you gentlemen?” Jeff asked, politely.

“No, I think we have everything we need,” the second officer replied, smiling. “Obviously, the wall is still intact and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of an emergency. We’ll chalk it up to people being fooled by a special effect.”

“Good,” Jeff said, appearing to relax a little.

“One thing,” the first officer said, looking a bit nervous.

“Yes?” Jeff asked, a bit nervously, himself.

The cop turned to Stiles. “Uh, Mr. O’Brien,” he said, shuffling his feet.

“Yes?” Stiles asked. He noticed that the other cop rolled his eyes behind the back of the one speaking.

“Uh… my daughter is a big fan of yours,” he said. “She loves your show. Could I get an autograph for her?”

“Sure,” Stiles said, surprised. He looked around. “Do you have a piece of paper?”

“Uh…,” the cop said looking around.

The second cop sighed and jerked a blank sheet of paper from his notebook. “Here,” he said exasperatedly, handing it to the first cop.

“Thanks,” the cop murmured, handing it to Stiles.

“What’s her name?” Stiles asked, pulling out a pen he kept to write notes in his script.

“Uh… Lisa,” the cop replied.

Stiles wrote:

 

     Lisa,

     It was good to meet your father and hear that you’re a fan. Take care and don’t let the werewolves bite!

     Dylan O’Brien

 

He drew a smiley face next to the word ‘bite.’

He handed the piece of paper to the cop, who looked at it, smiling. “Thanks, Mr. O’Brien,” he said, folding the paper carefully and putting it in his shirt pocket.

The cops left, accompanied by Jeff.

“That was close,” Moio said, shaking his head, but smiling.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied, returning the smile, “but they would have had a hell of a time proving something weird actually happened.

“True,” Moio said, sitting in one of the chairs. “Did you hear what happened with Corey?”

“No,” Stiles said, sitting next to him. He hadn’t thought about the director since he and Moio had run through the hole in the wall, with the troll hot on their heels.

“Apparently, he completely freaked out over the whole troll thing. He was in Jeff’s office raving about how Jeff had almost gotten him killed by supernatural forces and that filming needed to be stopped for everyone’s safety. He said he was going to the media and tell them what’s really going on.”

Stiles snorted and guffawed. “Really?” he said, shaking his head. “Good luck getting anybody to believe him.”

“I know, right?” Moio replied. “People who start talking like that get locked up in mental institutions, even if it is true.”

Stiles nodded. “Yep,” he said. “By the way,” he continued, eyeing Moio, “how is it that you’re cool with all this stuff?”

“Don’t know,” Moio responded, shrugging. “I keep thinking I’ll freak out any minute and I don’t. I guess I find it hard to freak out over something my own two eyes can see. That sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Stiles said, patting him on the shoulder, “I was kind of that way when I first discovered Scott was a werewolf. I wanted to help more than run screaming.” He smiled and Moio smiled back.

Jeff returned, apparently having shown the cops out. “Well, they’re satisfied and I think we dodged a bullet on that one,” Jeff said. “Now all I need to do is find another director.”

“Yeah, Moio was telling me that Corey quit,” Stiles said.

“Ran screaming, more like it,” Jeff said, smiling ruefully. “Of course, it’s hard to blame him. You don’t think about encountering real supernatural monsters on set, even the set of a supernatural show.”

“True,” Stiles replied, “but this is a story about Beacon Hills.”

Jeff nodded.

“So, any ideas what we’re going to do until you can get another director?” Stiles asked.

“I’m pulling the second unit director to film first unit, until I can get someone,” he said. “I have a cameraman coming in within a couple of hours, so hopefully we can start filming again soon.”

“Great,” Stiles said.

Jeff excused himself and hurried off to look for another director. Stiles and Moio lounged around the set for a while, then Moio left to find something to eat at craft services.

As Stiles watched Moio go, he felt a large hand squeeze his shoulder. He tensed for a moment, not knowing if this were some kind of attack, then relaxed as Derek’s familiar, rich, earthy scents reached his nose. Derek’s hand slid down his arm until it reached his own hand. Stiles watched as the other man’s large masculine fingers covered his own, rather boyish ones, and then interlaced with them. He started to turn his head, but stopped, when Derek’s head pressed against his neck, kissing him just beneath his jaw line. Stiles sighed and leaned into the kiss, feeling Derek’s stubble scratch the soft skin below his neck. “You know,” Stiles said, teasingly, “Malia, your cousin, would not approve of this.”

Derek chuckled, and brought his other arm around to wrap Stiles in an embrace. “I sent her out to patrol the parking lot,” he said, nuzzling Stiles.

“Clever,” Stiles replied, reaching up to run his fingers through Derek’s thick hair, “but you know I’m not going to do anything with you as long as I’m dating her, right?”

“I know,” Derek replied, “but I needed to touch you—hold you, even if just for a moment. When I saw that troll chasing you, I almost died from fear. I realized in my mind what my body has been telling me for the last five years… how I felt about you… that I… I love you.”

Stiles stiffened. Derek “loved” him? Did he hear that right? Derek, who had been on his case from the day they had met, who didn’t miss an opportunity to put him down, at least in the early years that they knew each other, actually loved him? It didn’t make sense. Stiles was thinking it was just physical attraction… hormones… lust… whatever… but love… really?

“Who are you and what have you done with Derek?” he heard himself ask.

Derek laughed. It was a low, warm laugh. Stiles saw a thousand winter evenings snuggled by a toasty fire in that laugh, and he loved it. “It really is me, Stiles,” he replied. “I know it’s hard to believe. We had such a… rough start to our friendship.”

“Rough start?” Stiles said, incredulously. “You scared the shit out of me constantly.”

Derek sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said, simply. “I can be gruff sometimes… downright mean, when I really want to have my way, but please understand that I do love you.” He lifted Stiles’ hand to his mouth and kissed it.

“I believe that,” Stiles said, turning to look into Derek’s eyes, “and believe me when I tell you that I could love you, if I give myself permission, but I’m not going to do that while I’m with Malia. I’m not sure how long I’ll be with her, but when and if that relationship ends, I’ll knock on your door, okay?”

“That’s the best I’d hoped for,” Derek said, bumping against Stiles’ shoulder, affectionately. “But may I ask one thing?”

“You can ask,” Stiles replied. “I don’t know if I’ll answer.”

“Fair enough,” Derek replied, and Stiles saw doubt and maybe a little fear in Derek’s eyes.

 _What the hell does he want to ask me?_ Stiles wondered to himself.

“May I have a kiss?” Derek asked, timidly. Then he added, a bit more slyly, “I just want something to last me until the day you come knocking… a really hot kiss.”

Stiles didn’t reply, he looked into Derek’s eyes, even as his head moved slowly toward the other man’s. Their lips touched, lightly at first… tentative. They lingered, for just a moment, then Stiles was pressing against him, his lips hard on Derek’s, feeling their warmth… their softness. Their mouths opened and their tongues slid against each other, and Stiles was tasting him.

 _Oh, God,_ Stiles thought. _This is heaven._ He had never been kissed like this. Not by anyone. Not even by Malia, who’s kisses were plenty passionate, but nothing compared to the heat and longing he felt from this. He never wanted it to stop. Derek’s tongue was warm and soft, and tasted fresh and sweet in that clean, earthy way that permeated Derek’s whole body. Stiles felt like he could melt into Derek and be lost in the other man forever.

And then, he knew. In the midst of that kiss, he knew where his fate lay. He had lied to himself earlier, when he had said that he wouldn’t give himself permission to love Derek before he broke up with Malia. That was a lie, because he had overridden his mind. It didn’t matter whether he gave himself permission, his heart and body and soul were already in love with Derek. _Good God!_ he thought, _I am IN LOVE with Derek!_ _Where the hell had that come from? What the hell am I going to do about it? I’m dating Malia. I like Malia… a lot. But, I LOVE Derek._ There was no denying it. He was in deep shit. Regardless of the outcome of this whole adventure, he knew where his future lay… with whom his future lay.

Their kiss finally ended. They pulled apart, slowly, looking into each other’s eyes. “you okay?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded. He looked around to see everyone on set staring at them, stunned expressions on their faces. “Rehearsing a scene,” Stiles said, loudly.”

One of the stage hands snorted. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, kid,” he said, smiling. Others laughed. The comment, however, broke the tension and a moment later, they all went back to what they were doing.

“Sorry about that,” Derek said, ruefully.

“Don’t be,” Stiles replied, stroking a hand down the side of Derek’s face. The stubble scratched his hand in a very appealing way. “That was wonderful.”

Stiles started to say something else, but his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen. It was Dylan calling. “Hello,” he said.

Stiles listened, silently, as Dylan filled him in on their recent chase of Marsha, the waitress, who was actually possessed by Sereetha, the fairy girl who was working with Korin on this whole evil plot thing. When he was finally done, Stiles said, “Got it. Thanks, and I’ll let you know as soon as we know something.” He hung up.

Derek looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Come on,” Stiles said, rising from his chair. “That was Dylan. Sereetha just jumped from our universe to this one and she’s looking for a body to possess. We need to find Jeff and Margot, fast.


	42. Hunting Fairies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to help Lydia, while the rest of the group searches for Sereetha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Here is the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it. My plan is to release the next chapter in about two weeks. Thanks for reading!

“Jeff!” Stiles shouted, motioning to the producer from across the parking lot where he was supervising the delivery of something to the production facility. “We need you!”

Jeff waved to the three men hauling boxes out of the back of a van and trotted toward Stiles and Derek, a questioning look in his eye.

“Don’t you have assistants to supervise that?” Stiles asked, pointing toward the van.

Jeff laughed. “Yea, but they’re all busy doing other things I assigned them. So, sometimes, a producer has to do what a producer has to do. What did you guys need?”

“I just got a call from Dylan,” Stiles said, holding up the magic cell phone. “Sereetha went through the portal. She’s somewhere here in the studio.”

“Shit!” Jeff said. “What do we do?”

“We need to find her, and fast,” Derek said, “before she can take a new host.”

“And, we need to get everyone together, so we can protect them better,” Stiles added.

“Right,” Jeff said, taking out his phone. “I’ll call everyone and have them assemble in the conference room, so we can keep them safe.”

“I’ll find Malia and Liam. We’ll meet you there,” Derek said.

“I’ll find Margot and we’ll join you,” Stiles said, trying to remember where Margot said she was going to be… an empty room, sleeping, if he remembered right.

Derek nodded and took off to find the other were-creatures, while Jeff trotted back to the van with his cell phone to his ear.

Stiles dialed Margot’s number and walked back toward the building. She answered on the fourth ring. “Where are you?” Stiles asked.

“I was just about to call you,” Margot replied in a low voice, almost a whisper. “I found Lydia.”

Stiles sucked in a breath. “Where?”

“An abandoned building about five blocks south of the studio.”

“I’m coming now,” Stiles said.

“Wait,” Margot responded. “We need to do this carefully. If he suspects anything, he could kill her.”

“Okay,” Stiles said. “What should I do?”

“Come alone,” Margot replied. “Make sure you bring the staff. We’ll take him by surprise.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Stiles said, searching his pocket for his car keys. “Where are you?”

She gave him an address and he sprinted for his car, not looking back.

=== ===

The address that Margot gave him turned out to be an abandoned building off Saticoy Street, just on the edge of a residential district. Per Margot’s instructions, Stiles parked behind the building. He spotted Leonard’s Lexis under a tarp near the back entrance.

As stiles got out of the car, Margot emerged from behind the Lexis, a finger to her lips signaling silence. Stiles closed the car door softly, with only a slight click, and eased toward Margot, trying to make as little noise as possible.

“Where are they?” he asked Margot in a soft whisper.

“Inside,” she replied. Her voice was so low that she practically mouthed the words. “Part of the floor has collapsed into the basement. He has her down there, but we can levitate her out using the staff. Did you bring it?”

“Yes,” Stiles replied, patting the bag tied to his belt.

“Give it to me,” she said, in a voice too loud to be hiding from someone.

Stiles eyed her. He fumbled with the string and finally managed to pull the staff out of the bag but didn’t hand it to her. “I’m holding on to it until we get inside and are ready to levitate Lydia out of that pit.”

Margot made an impatient noise. “I’m the witch. I can use it better than you can.”

“No arguing,” Stiles said, decisively. “Where’s Lydia?”

“Okay,” Margot said, curtly, shoving past Stiles and walking toward the building. “This way.”

Stiles followed. Margot walked to a large steel door that was rusted beyond belief. It looked like it hadn’t been opened in decades and might fall apart if someone tried. She put her hand to the door handle.

“Wait!” stiles whispered urgently. “Won’t the hinges make a sound if you try to open that door.”

“Give me a little credit, Stiles,” Margot said sarcastically. “I put a silence spell on the door before I opened it the first time.” She pulled and the door silently swung open.

“Smart,” Stiles replied, continuing to eye her.

“Ç’est moi,” she replied with a smile.

“You speak French? I didn’t realize that.”

“I have many surprises,” she said.

“I’m sure you do,” stiles replied. He motioned her to go ahead. “Ladies first.”

She walked into the building like she owned it. Stiles followed. Margot didn’t slow once she was inside. She led Stiles through a warren of dirty, dilapidated rooms with trash and filth scattered across their floors. As they made their way, Stiles saw skittering, clawed track marks in the dirt. _Rats_ , he thought.

Finally, they came to a doorway. The door had been removed from its hinges, perhaps torn way from the looks of it, to reveal a large room. Stiles thought that, judging by its size and position, the room must cover the whole front of the building. Dim light filtered through boarded-up windows on three sides of the room, dappling the room in a gray light that cast long, eerie shadows across the walls. More importantly, the entire floor of the room had collapsed. The remains lay broken and jagged on the floor of the room below. In the midst of the rubble, Lydia sat on a large piece of rubble slightly higher than the rest and tilted at an odd angle. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and her head was bent forward so that her red locks covered most of her face.

Stiles sucked in a breath.

“Told you she was here,” Margot whispered in his ear. “Now give me the staff and we’ll get her out.”

“I can levitate her myself,” Stiles said.

“Lydia!” he whisper-shouted to her.

Lydia’s head snapped up, just as Margot grabbed the staff and tried to pull it out of Stiles’ hand.

Still holding the staff with both hands, Stiles spoke a single command, “Repel.” Margot sailed backward down the hall, landing in a heap about twenty feet away. She immediately jumped to her feet and looked at Stiles with seething furry.

“Don’t trust her, Stiles!” Lydia shouted.

“I know!” Stiles shouted back.

Turning to Margot, Stiles said, “I thought something was wrong, the way you were talking in the parking lot. Margot doesn’t talk or act that way. You’re Sereetha, right? What did you do, catch Margot sleeping when you came through the portal and possess her?”

“You sniveling little worm!” Margot/Sereetha shouted, eyeing Stiles with a look of utter disgust. “I’m going to rip you into little pieces and feed you to my pet hellhounds!”

“You’re such a sweet talker, Sereetha, but I don’t think so,” Stiles said, smiling and holding up the staff. “I have a plus-five staff of ass-kickery, and I’m about to use it on you.”

Sereetha let out an ungodly howl of rage and charged Stiles, flinging energy bolts at him as she rushed forward. Completely surprised, Stiles shouted “Shield” and visualized an energy barrier in front of him to deflect the incoming bolts. It worked. The shield deflected the bolts, which ricocheted off it and blasted the walls, ceiling, and floor instead. But each strike carried a lot of force with it, as well. Stiles found himself forced back with each blow of energy. Sereetha was using the combined magical abilities of Margot and herself to rain down an almost continuous blast of energy on him and all he could do was deflect them. He didn’t have time to launch an attack of his own.

Finally, he was at the doorway, where the floor fell away into the room below, and Sereetha was only a couple of feet away. With one final volley of energy bolts, she reached out a hand to grab the staff. Desperate, stiles flung himself backward into the room, shouting “Fly!” as he did so. He shot backward flying through the room and nearly collided with the wall opposite, before he got himself under control.

“No, damn-it!” Sereetha shouted from the doorway. Beside her, another figure appeared. It was Leonard, who was possessed by Korin. He looked almost the same as the man who had been the director on set the day Stiles first appeared, more than a week ago. The only difference was that now his eyes glowed an unsettling red color.

“I’m sorry, Korin,” Sereetha said, placing a hand on Korin’s chest. “I tried to get the staff, bit I failed.”

“It’s alright, darling,” Korin said gently. “It would have been nice to have it, but it’s not necessary. Our plan can be worked without the staff.”

Stiles was tired of Korin, Sereetha, and their plan to destroy the Fay universe. He wanted to put an end to it and go back home. Leveling the staff at them, he shouted “blast!” A bolt of energy shot from the tip of the staff and streaked toward Korin and Sereetha. To Stiles surprise, however, it hit an invisible barrier just in front of them and ricocheted off, bouncing around the room like a billiard ball before impacting the floor, blowing a small hole in the cement.

“You’ll find that is entirely ineffective,” Korin sneered, his voice haughty. I’ve magicked the walls and ceiling of the entire room you’re in to repel all magical attacks. And don’t get the idea of digging down, either. The magic goes at least a mile beneath the floor. You’ll never dig through in time, even with the staff.”

“In time for what?” Stiles asked.

“In time to stop the final act of our little drama,” Korin said. “Now that the Fay universe has been weakened by the mass transferred through it, all we have to do is send a large mass through the portal and it will be utterly destroyed. It will shatter into a million pieces and the Fay world will be gone forever.”

“What do you mean by a large mass?” Lydia asked. She was now standing, looking up at Korin and Sereetha from her perch atop the rubble.

“Greater Los Angeles,” Sereetha said, calmly.

“What!” Lydia and Stiles exclaimed together.

“There are eighteen-and-a-half million people in greater Los Angeles!” Lydia continued.

“And half a million in Beacon County,” Stiles added. “You’ll kill all of them!”

“Alas, ‘tis true,” Korin said. “Almost all of them will die. It’s unfortunate, but necessary for our plan to work.”

“You’re bat shit crazy!” Stiles shouted at Korin.

“Sticks and stones, my dear boy,” Korin said. “Now it’s time for Sereetha and me to go. We have to get back to the portal and cast the spell that will send Los Angeles to its new home.”

He turned to leave, then turned back and said, “And in case you get any ideas about coming back out this way,” he indicated the hallway where he and Sereetha stood, “I’m going to seal it up as we leave. Adieu.”

He and Sereetha turned and as they walked away, a solid stone wall materialized, blocking the doorway.

“Fuck!” Stiles said, flying up to the stone and pounding on it with his fist. It was solid stone alright, like Korin had teleported the side of a cliff to fill the space. There was not a single crack or weakness Stiles could see that he might exploit.

Shaking his head, he floated down and settled to the floor, next to Lydia.

“We’re trapped,” he said, feeling like he had just failed completely. “I have the most powerful staff in the world, and I let those two slip through my hands.”

Lydia gave him a wane smile. Moving forward, she hugged him and placed a light kiss on his cheek. “Don’t worry, Stiles, you’ll think of something. You always do.”


	43. Deployment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short transitional chapter to get us going again. Dylan and the gang prepare to return to their own dimension, along with some help.

“How fast can you deploy your army to my universe?” Dylan asked Silveron. They were meeting in the conference room of the sheriff’s office. Stilinski, Parrish, the SCAPE officers, Scott, and Kira were all there, along with Silveron, Dylan, Hoechlin, Holland, Sprayberry, and Shelley.

“Within fifteen minutes of receiving word that you’ve located Korin and Sereetha,” Silveron replied, smoothly.

“So, basically, we return to my universe through the direct portal you’ve created, help Stiles and the people from this universe locate Korin and Sereetha, call you guys on one of the magic cell phones by dialing 911, and you guys show up and kick their asses, right?” Dylan asked.

“Yes, you are correct,” Silveron replied. “As we’ve discussed, we cannot survive more than thirty minutes in your universe without hosts, so it’s imperative that we not enter your universe until the last possible moment, when we can engage Korin and Sereetha in combat immediately and subdue them.”

“Understood,” Dylan said. Turning toward the others, he asked. “How do you think we should proceed?

Scott said, “I think all of the guys from Dylan’s universe should go, obviously, along with Parrish from our universe. Kira, the SCAPE officers and I will stay here to protect this universe.”

“Maybe I should go, too,” Stilinski said. “Stiles is there and you guys could probably use someone else who knows how to fire a gun.”

“Guns are not always effective against the supernatural,” Silveron replied. He spoke briskly, though his eyes looked sympathetic.

“Look,” Stilinski replied, wiping a hand across the nape of his neck, “I’ve got to do something. Sitting here while Stiles is in danger… I just can’t do it. Scott’s the alpha, he can handle overseeing the SCAPE officers here, and I can at do something to get my son back.”

Silveron considered this. “Doesn’t it make more sense to send the alpha? He’s the most likely to be able to fight Korin and Sereetha.”

“Almost all of my pack is in the other universe,” Scott replied, shaking his head. I’m down two werewolves, a werecoyote, a banshee, and a best friend. It’s just me, Kira, and the SCAPE officers, if we’re mistaken and the main attack comes here. I think we should hedge our bets and have as strong a force here as in the other universe.”

Silveron nodded and tapped his chin, considering this. “Very well,” he said at last, “but could you at least send the kitsune? I would greatly appreciate having the power of lightening on our side.”

Scott looked at Kira, who looked back and forth from Scott to Silveron. “Do you mind?” she asked Scott.

He thought about it for a long moment. “I’d like you to be with me, just so we can be together, but I see what he’s saying, so I think it’s probably best if you go with them,” he said at last.

Kira turned to Silveron. “I’m in, then.”

“Excellent,” he replied.

Turning to Dylan, he asked, “Have you consulted with Stiles about our plan?”

“I talked with him earlier, but I haven’t been able to get him for the last thirty minutes or so.”

“That’s ominous,” Silveron said, eyeing Dylan.

“I agree,” Dylan replied. “What do you think we should do?

“I think you and your people need to get their as quickly as possible.”

Dylan nodded.


	44. A Novel Experience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Lydia attempt to escape from the basement where they are imprisoned.

Stiles examined their surroundings for the fifth time since they had been imprisoned by Korin and Sereetha. They were in the basement of an abandoned building. The ceiling had collapsed, littering the floor with rubble and opening the space to the room above. All of the exists were blocked and an anti-magic field prevented him from using his magic staff to get out.

“Where does that go?” he asked Lydia, pointing at a large wooden door on one wall of the basement.

“Stairs,” she replied. “They lead up to the first floor.”

“So, if we can just break down that door, we can go up the stairs and get out, right?”

“Right,” she replied, wiping a strand of her long hair from her from her eyes. She sat on a pile of rubble, watching Stiles as he eyed the sturdy wood of the door.

Rubbing a hand across his mouth, Stiles approached the door, slowly. He considered it, carefully and in detail. It was solid wood and swung outward, which meant that the hinges were on the other side, so there was no way to remove the pins and just take the door down. He wrapped his knuckles on the wood. It sounded solid and thick.

Maybe he could shoulder the door open, like they did in movies. He took a step back and shoved his body, shoulder first, into the door, putting all his weight behind hit. The door didn’t move. He repeated the action. Same effect. He did it a third time, but not only did the door not budge, it showed no signs of weakening. In a fit of frustration, Stiles marched back, halfway across the room and then hurled himself at the door as fast as he could. He bounced off the door and landed on his back, sending up a cloud of dust that enveloped him and set off a coughing fit.

When his coughing subsided and his eyes refocused, Lydia was standing over him, waving away the last of the dust with one elegant hand, while stretching out the other to help him up. “Seriously?” she asked.

“I thought it was at least worth a try,” he said, grasping her hand and getting to his feet. He dusted off his backside and the two went back to the pile of rubble where Lydia had been sitting and settled themselves as comfortably as they could.

“How do we get ourselves into these situations?” Stiles asked, shaking his head.

“It’s just our fate,” she replied, looking at him with a weary smile.

“Yeah, but just once I’d like to be able to go for ice cream without having some ninja demon show up and try to take possession of me, or wash my laundry without having some aquatic monster come writhing up through the pipes to fight me over my dirty drawers.”

Lydia snorted. The look she gave Stiles was priceless. “Did you just use the terms aquatic monster and dirty drawers in the same sentence?”

“Yep,” he replied, laughing himself, “I totally did.” They both devolved into complete hysterical laughter

“Heavens,” Lydia finally said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Here we are laughing while two evil supernatural bad guys are plotting to destroy Los Angeles.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, sobering. “I suppose it’s either that or cry.”

“It’s certainly a novel approach to dealing with the issue, though not necessarily a productive one.”

Stiles froze. “What did you say?” he asked.

“I said it wasn’t a very productive approach,” she replied, waving at the door. “Laughing doesn’t open that door and get us out.”

“No, before that.”

“That it’s a novel approach?” she asked, looking confused. “I was making a joke.”

Stiles jumped up, slapping his hands together. “That’s it,” he said, triumphantly. “That’s the solution.”

“Huh?” Lydia replied, eying him. “You’re losing me.”

Stiles knelt in front of her, all smiles, grasping her hands in his. “We’re filming an episode of Teen Wolf,” he said, trying to explain.

“That TV series of Dylan’s about us?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “The episode we’re filming now is called ‘A Novel Approach.’”

“Okay,” Lydia replied, eyeing Stiles as if to say, “and what does this have to do with anything?”

“At the end of the episode, Dr. Valack has Lydia (you) record your scream. He plays it back, using a cup to focus the sound and causes a crack in the plexiglass of his cell, that lets him break out.” Stiles eyed her, meaningfully.

“Oh,” she said after a moment. So, you think I can scream at the door and cause it to crack?”

“I believe so,” he replied, standing and looking around the room, “if we can find something we can use to focus the sound.”

Lydia jumped to her feet and started looking as well. “It’s worth a try, anyway,” she said, brushing rubble aside.

It took a lot of effort, but they finally located a flat piece of metal that Stiles was able to bend into a cone shape. Placing the end of the cone against the door next to the locking mechanism, stiles said, “Okay, Lydia, give it a try.”

“Sure,” she said, approaching the cone, “but, how do you know this is going to work, and not just fail because of the anti-magic field?”

“I don’t—not for sure, anyway.” He shrugged. “Basically, I think that your scream is supernatural, but not specifically magical. The field stops magic, so if I’m right, your scream should be able to go right through it.” He nodded at the cone. “Give it a try and let’s find out.”

Lydia bent over, placed her head just in front of the cone’s opening, and screamed. It was a long, loud, vibrating scream that echoed off the walls and reverberated around the room, causing the walls to shake and sending dust and debris falling from the ceiling. It was so loud that Stiles thought his hears were going to bleed. Finally, she finished.

The two eyed the door. It looked the same as before. Lydia’s shoulder’s slumped. “Well, I tried,” she said, sounding defeated.

“Hang on a second,” Stiles said, handing her the metal cone. He threw his weight against the door. There was a loud crack as it partially gave way. Stiles examined it. The wood had splintered, but only at the spot where Lydia’s scream had been focused. “I think this is going to work,” he said, smiling at her.

In the end, it took four more attempts to weaken enough of the wood to break through. Lydia was nearly exhausted from the effort and Stiles thought his hearing might be impaired, permanently, but at last they were able to get through the doorway. They staggered up the steps and out into the sunlight of a warm California afternoon.

“What do we do now?” Lydia asked as the got into Dylan’s car.

“Stop those two bastards before they cause mass death and destruction”

“How?”

He eyed her, shook his head and said, “I don’t have a clue, but I’m working on it.”


	45. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan and his friends return to their universe, bringing Stilinski, Kira, and Parrish with them. They make plans with the supernaturals to face off against Korin and Sereetha. I hope you enjoy it.

Dylan was the first through the portal, emerging into the bright sunlight of a late California afternoon. He was in the parking lot near the front of Teen Wolf HQ. Everything looked surprisingly normal.

Kira emerged beside him, followed by the others. “Wow,” Kira said, blinking and shading her eyes. “This looks like the parking lot at the hospital.” She turned in a circle eying the building, parking lot, and nearby street.

“Yeah,” Dylan replied. “That’s what we use it for on the show. He did a quick head count and, seeing that everyone was there, said, “Let’s go find Jeff.”

Not waiting for anyone to reply, he led the way into the building. Searching through offices and conference rooms, he finally located Jeff coming out of the writer’s room. “Stiles?” he asked, eyeing all of them.

“No, it’s me, Dylan,” he said, grabbing Jeff in a big bear hug.

“Halle-fucking-lujah,” Jeff said, wrapping his own arms around Dylan and planting a kiss on top of the guy’s head. “Are you all here?”

“Yes,” Dylan replied, feeling the sting of tears coming to his eyes. He fought back the emotion. He didn’t have time for this now. He needed to focus on stopping Korin and Sereetha before they could do anything drastic. “We just came through a new portal the Fay created. Do you know where Stiles is?”

“No, we can’t find him and no one’s seen him in a couple of hours.”

“Shit!” Dylan replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “That sucks.”

“You don’t know where my son is?” Stilinski asked, a slight panic in his voice. Jeff looked at him and arched an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Dylan said, pulling back from Jeff. “I forgot to introduce you. Jeff, this is sheriff Stilinski, Deputy Parrish, and Kira. We brought them to help us out. Guys, this is Jeff, our show runner.”

“Wow,” Jeff said, offering his hand to each of the three. “Thank you for coming.”

“Sure,” Stilinski replied, “but what do you mean you don’t know where Stiles is.”

“No one has seen either him or Margot in a couple of hours,” Jeff replied. “We’ve been trying his phone and I have people physically looking for them, but so far, nothing.”

“That has to be bad,” Stilinski replied.

Jeff shook his head. “I doubt it’s good.

“Let me try his phone again,” Dylan said, looking worriedly from Jeff to Stilinski.

Jeff considered him for a moment, started to say something, stopped, started again, and then threw up his hands in obvious frustration. “Try it. I’ve got nothing better.”

Dylan dialed.

To everyone’s surprise, Stiles answered on the third ring. “Hey,” he said, over the din of car noises.

“Hey,” Dylan replied. “I’m putting you on speaker.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed the speaker button.

“Can you hear me?” Dylan asked.

“Yes,” Stiles replied. “I’m heading back to Teen Wolf HQ and I have Lydia with me. Shit’s about to hit the fan. How soon can you and the fairies get to this universe?

“I’m already here and I’ve got Kira, Parrish, and your dad with me. We’re waiting until the last minute to call the fairy army, as they cannot stay in this universe for very long.”

“My dad?” Stiles asked, sounding shocked. “My dad’s here?”

“Yes, son, I’m here,” Stilinski said, leaning toward the phone in Dylan’s outstretched hand.

“Shit!” Stiles said. Shit, shit, shit!”

“What’s wrong?” Stilinski asked, looking from Dylan to Jeff.

“You’re in danger,” Stiles replied. “All of you are in danger. Hell, everyone in the whole LA region is in danger, but you guys are at the center of it.” Quickly, Stiles explained the situation.

“Holy fucking shit!” Dylan exclaimed, staring at the phone. “He’s planning on sacrificing everyone in LA to get his revenge. He’s bat shit crazy.”

“No arguments here,” Stiles replied.

“So, he and Sereetha are on their way back here?” Stilinski asked.

“That seems to be the plan,” Stiles replied.

“But, I think he’s going to pick up some friends on his way, so we may have a little time,” Lydia interjected.

“Friends?” Jeff and Stilinski asked, simultaneously.

“I think his plan is to get some hell hounds, a goblin or two, that sort of thing,” Lydia said.

“Oh, hell,” Parrish said, shaking his head.

“And, they’ve got this powerful witch possessed, too,” Kira added. “I don’t like the odds.”

“Me neither,” Stilinski said. Looking at Stiles, he asked, “Do you think we can get the fairy army here, sooner than we planned?”

“Probably not a good idea,” Dylan replied. “They can only stay here for twenty or thirty minutes, once they arrive. If we call them too soon, then they might have to go back before the fight even starts, or worse, during it. Better to wait until they show up and then call them. That way, we just have to hold them off for a minute or two and then the fairies arrive and deal with them.”

“Okay,” Jeff said, nodding. Then I think the solution is to arm ourselves and get everyone into a defensible position and be ready for them.”

“Good idea,” Stiles said. “Lydia and I are headed back as fast as we can, but traffic is a pain right now.”

“It’s LA,” Jeff said with a bitter smile, “it’s always like that. Just get back as fast as you can, okay?”

“Definitely,” Stiles replied and hung up.

“Now what?” Dylan asked.

“Now we get ready,” Jeff replied, motioning for everyone to follow him.


End file.
